All Over Me
by vontramp
Summary: Britanna AU - Santana has been in and out of foster care for over six years, and surprisingly, the situation that has made her feel the most unloved brings her to what could be the greatest love of her life. T for now, possibly M later.
1. Chapter 1

Staring down at scuffed shoes, the young woman tugged at her jacket, pulling the hood more closely to drape the waves that gently curled around her face. She wiggled her toes absentmindedly, noting the tip of her socks peeking out of the tips of her sneakers, worn down after years of regular wear and tear, and a few attempts at escape. She couldn't quite determine if the office she sat in was genuinely too cold, or if it was simply the contrast in temperature from the sweltering July heat she'd become a victim to, but regardless of reasoning, she could feel goose bumps creeping up and down her calves, tickling the short hairs there, and sending a shiver down her thin frame. Pulling her jacket more closely to her body, she huffed in impatience, knowing the situation she would walk into would be one she was agonizingly familiar with, and therefore not worth her time.

Bouncing in and out of foster homes, she had learned to rely on herself early in life, after losing her parents in a car wreck when she was eleven. Six years later, and she had yet to find another place she could legitimately call home. She was used to being shuttled from house to house, with occasional stops at shelters and orphanages, a word that never quite sat well with her. She was well aware that she was a handful, not exactly the type of child most parents would anticipate taking in, however, she was never given the chance to show certain aspects of her personality in the time allotted, and therefore, had elected to create walls around herself, refusing to allow anyone close even if they took the time to try.

"Santana?" She turned, meeting the cobalt blue eyes of her social worker, and stood slowly, not in any rush to walk through the muted green hallway to the third door on the right to continue this interaction. Begrudgingly, she followed the woman who had taken over her "case," after the woman before her, raging bitch that she was, finally took her maternity leave. Shutting the door behind them, the blue eyed woman, significantly softer than Edith, her previous counselor, gestured to the seat across from her desk, beckoning the small girl to take her designated place, as was habitual for the two. "We have found somewhere for you to stay for the remaining two weeks before your birthday, though it isn't exactly protocol to do so. Normally, the state would suggest that we simply keep you in a shelter, but the family insisted, after hearing all that you have been through. I wanted to confirm with you that you would be comfortable in the home, however, because a young man from your school is a member of the family. Noah Puckerman, do you know him?" Santana murmured something in the form of an affirmative, as she tugged on a loose string of her denim shorts, knowing full well who he was. "Is that situation going to be cohesive? His mother offered you a receptionist position at her dental office, and has determined that she will co-sign for an apartment for you, so long as you make the monthly payments once you've moved in. I know it's a lot to take in, but she seems dedicated to helping you, for whatever reason, and I think it would be in your best interest to comply."

Santana nodded once more, unsure of how this situation had fallen in her lap so easily. She had been babysitting since her parents died, walking dogs, cutting lawns, anything to be able to save for herself, in the event that she needed a backup plan. She'd taken a job at a local cafe once she turned sixteen, and had been working there ever since, saving every scrap she could, despite the fact that she knew when she turned eighteen, she wouldn't need to work for several years. Her father had instilled in her a strong work ethic, even when it came down to the simplest of things, like long division or washing her hands for the entirety of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, so the thought of her inheritance was far from the forefront of her mind. "I'll do it Becca, let them know. Thank you." She attempted sincerity, but knew that her words fell short, as she was not accustomed to accepting help in any way, and frankly, didn't care to accept it.

Standing up to cross the room, Rebecca gestured for young girl to come to her feet as well, wrapping her in a tight hug. Sinking into her case worker's chest, Santana allowed herself a deep breath in, hoping for a momentary scent of comfort to pervade the interaction, but was, as per usual, disappointed.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow morning, at nine, to bring you to them Santana. Try not to oversleep this time," she said with a laugh and a wink. The still hooded girl nodded again, attempting to quirk a grin, before realizing that Rebecca was already staring down at the paperwork that needed to be completed for her transfer to Puckerman household, unaware that the person she was filling those forms out for was still very much in the room. Letting out an exasperated sigh and scuffing the floor with one of her sneakers, she dug her hands into her pockets and shuffled down the familiar hallway, out of the door, and directly toward the park two blocks over.

Sinking down into one of the swings, she pulled out a beaten pack of Marlboros and lit the last one remaining, taking a few deep drags before absentmindedly beginning to sway back and forth, trying not to dread the fourteen day countdown to her eighteenth birthday. Honestly, the only thing she was looking forward to was being able to walk into a gas station and buy her own cigarettes, without having to flirt with the overly friendly middle-aged men at truck stops, who never seemed to understand why "such a pretty young thing" was uninterested in being roughly molested in the back of their big rig, with their big rig. While admittedly unshy about sexual matters, she kept her sexuality under wraps in those situations, as the last thing she needed was some burly lumberjack of a truck driver trying to "show her what she's missing." She'd had enough of the condescending looks and attempted conversions in numerous foster homes, and thus had learned to keep her mouth shut unless absolutely necessary, rather than waving a rainbow flag through the air at all times of the day or night.

However, if she were to make it through the next two weeks, she wouldn't be able to do it without a supply of nicotine, as nervous didn't begin to cover sharing a rooftop with Noah Puckerman. Slipping off of the swing set, she headed toward the nearest gas station, one in which she could usually flirt her way into a free pack of menthols with a few carefully chosen words, as the teenaged boy behind the counter more than likely had a close personal relationship with his left hand - the only relationship he'd ever managed to maintain long enough for release. Yanking her shirt down a little, and pressing her bra upward, she gave her admittedly nice-on-their-own breasts a little assistance before opening the side door to the small shop, a gently tinkling bell sounding behind her.

"Hey you," she nearly purred, her voice an octave lower, more intensely husky than it had been fifteen minutes prior, when speaking with her case worker.

After swallowing a nearly visible lump in his throat, the shop attendant managed a smile in her direction, and what she believed to be an attempt at a wink, though to be perfectly honest, it seemed more along the lines of the early stages of a bad nervous twitch. "Menthol 100's?" he managed to choke out, well aware of her standard purchase. Santana merely nodded in response, before carefully patting down her pockets.

"Shit. I don't have my wallet on me. Could you - " she cut off her sentence with a soft giggle, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear, playing shy as if he were the most handsome man she had seen in her life, and she suddenly didn't know how to act around him. He nodded quickly, a sheepish grin plastered across his face, before handing two packs to the small girl across the counter. "You know, one day I'll have to find a way to repay you for all your _generosity_," she whispered, before chuckling throathily, leaving the boy flushed and open mouthed as she strutted out of the gas station the same way she walked in, internally giving herself a round of applause on another well played acting job.

"Impressive," she heard a voice behind her say, simultaneously crystal clean and murky. "He never lets me get away with that," the voice continued, and by the time Santana turned around to put a face to the sound, the driver had slipped behind the well-tinted windows of a charcoal Mazda, and all she caught was a flash of blonde hair before the door slammed, and the voice slipped away with the screech of tires on the pavement.


	2. Chapter 2

Shivering, Santana reached over the side of her cot, retrieving her folded jacket from the floor before slipping it on, the somehow still softened fibers tickling the hair on her arms that stood straight up. Twisting to her left, and then again to her right, she felt a lightheadedness flood her as her vertebrae crackled, releasing the tension in her back from yet another night on a thread bare bed. Tilting her head in the same directions as her body, she yawned, her mouth stretching wide, before finally shuffling towards the community bathroom with her things, more than accustomed to the remarkable lack of privacy. After splashing generous sums of water over her still sleep ridden eyes, she glanced at her watch while her toothbrush hung loosely between her lips, still puffy from sleep. She had fifteen minutes to change and both literally and figuratively inhale her cigarette before, prompt as always, Rebecca would show up.

Nine o'clock on the dot, a white SUV pulled toward the curb Santana was perched on, quickly stamping out her Marlboro before yanking on the door handle and lifting herself into the passenger's seat, tossing two worn duffel bags at her feet. A warm smiled shone in her direction, her case worker clearly more excited about the transition than was the sulking teenaged girl next to her. Despite repeated attempts at conversation, Santana chose to ignore the small talk, instead taking in the scenery as they moved through the downtown area into a small, neatly kept neighborhood near her high school. One year left, and she could leave this godforsaken town for good, she'd constantly remind herself. Leaving seemed as good an option as any; there wasn't a thing in the world keeping her here.

Letting her books swing loosely in her left arm, a petite girl moved through the throngs of people amongst her, refusing eye contact, because, as she'd learned, eye contact opened the door for conversation, and that was the last thing she wanted. A few people jostled her shoulder as she made her way toward her last class, but out of clumsiness or an inherently inattentive nature, not maliciously in the least. Surprisingly, she'd also learned that keeping her temper at bay kept people from interacting with her, and had managed to make it through nearly three years in this hell hole without stepping on any toes, therefore keeping her own feet free from being stomped.

Sliding into a desk in the back corner, nearest the window, Santana listened raptly to the woman in the front of the classroom as she went over Power Point slides dedicated to the history of the various art movements. While to any outside observer, it would look as though she were bored out of her skull, which very typically she was because, to be perfectly frank, Ohio isn't exactly bustling with Einsteins, she did not spare an ounce of attention to anything other than the colors flooding the screen in front of her. Her chin propped up by her right hand, her eyes slightly glazed, she could pass as any one of the Automatrons nearest her, but her left hand was scribbling furiously across the notebook paper in front of her, writing down names and titles and dates that she'd look up again later.

As the bell rang, she tugged the hood of her jacket up and collected her things to head "home" for the day before being stopped by a warm hand on her forearm. Her teacher tugged her back, before reaching across her desk and placing a worn hardcover book in caramel hands.

The same book was tucked gently into her bags, a piece of familiarity when her scenery was constantly shifting. Santana had discovered while still very young that she had an innate ability to read the people around her, noticing small changes in demeanor without much effort - the slight dulling of eyes, a twitch in a smile, or nearly invisible nervous habits when a conversation was turning towards uncomfortable topics. Her brain shuttered close, freezing the moment, and locking it away in the back of her head without her conscious realization. It was one thing that had gotten her through the months after her parents' death. She could easily flick through mental photos of her parents, and even the most mundane frozen actions were a comfort - her mother humming softly with her eyes shut, stirring pots on the oven, or her father gazing at her from across the kitchen, a look of awe still evident in his eyes, as if asking himself, is she really mine? It was the closest thing she had to photographs, as all of hers had been stolen, along with the film camera she'd saved up for, one night at a shelter she was unfamiliar with. She ached to feel the cool metal against her fingertips again, the whirring sound of her shutter as she'd capture low-lighted moments of the people around her, the click of the spool as she wound the film to the next free square, awaiting light to flood it, capturing the opposite of what she saw through the viewfinder. Hidden behind the extension of her eyes, she felt safe.

"Well, we're here," Rebecca announced, pulling the girl abruptly from her thought process, though she could still feel as though the weight of the camera was in her hands, grounding her. Focusing her attention out of the car window, she saw nothing out of the ordinary - a well-kept lawn sprawling in front of a two story red brick home with a garage to the right, and a fence enclosing the out of sight backyard. Taking a deep breath in, Santana felt the rhythm in her chest pick up, nervously tapping against her rib cage, and her fingers automatically flew to her mouth, enclosing a ragged thumb nail between her front teeth. Following a tap on her side, urging her out of the car, she followed her social worker up the steps to the admittedly nice looking house, before ringing the door bell and retreating a few steps.

Light footsteps and a creaky swing later, the open doorway revealed a petite woman, a few inches shorter than Santana herself with dark, shoulder length hair, hazel eyes, and an inviting smile, encouraging one to reveal itself on the features of the caramel skinned girl fidgeting on the wooden porch. Behind her stood her son, tall and muscular, with a mischievous spark in the eyes he'd inherited from his mother. Welcoming the two women into her home, April Puckerman seemed much more at ease than the three younger adults, all still taking in the surroundings, unsure of how the situation would pan out.

"Noah, could you show Santana her room?" she requested, as she brought Rebecca to the kitchen table. The thin girl was more than surprised to find that McKinley's resident, and self-proclaimed, bad ass nodded with respect, and turned to the staircase without so much as another word. Santana followed him, leaving a fair amount of room between the two teenagers, before they arrived at a plain white door, which when opened, revealed a simply furnished room, the walls a surprising red shade, considering the softened nature of the rest of the home.

Placing her bags on the bed, Santana turned to her new roommate, she supposed the word would be, and smiled. "Thanks Puck." He nodded sheepishly, apparently unnerved that she'd seen the respectful side of himself, which rarely shone through, given his dedication to his reputation. "Now, for real though, I need a fucking cigarette. Where can I go?" His grin transformed into a smirk she was more familiar with, as he took her hand, leading her through the kitchen, garage, and then out a side door, where they stopped behind a small boat.

"Puckerman's Smoke Lounge, at your service," he said cheekily, pulling out his own pack as she lit up.

**A/N: The plot is still being set up, but I assure you that Brittany will be more formally introduced in the next chapter, as we've only seen a glimpse of her character, both literally and figuratively. :) **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for the feedback and all of the alerts everyone. :) I appreciate them.  
With that said, I have a slight trigger warning, in regards to sexual abuse. There's nothing graphic in the least, but there is a short flashback to a moment in one of the character's lives - just a heads up.  
**

Ingesting a final drag before stamping out her cigarette butt on the bottom of her high tops, Santana turned to Puck, who was very clearly in his own world, nudging him in the ribs before cracking a grin. "We probably ought to go back in, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." She ran her fingers through the top of her hair, the feeling of her fingernails scraping against her scalp calming her; it was a nervous habit she'd picked up early in life. Her mother had always gently brushed her hair back when she was upset, and it was the only thing that could bring her back from tears, no matter if she'd woken up from a nightmare or if she'd fallen off of her bicycle, scraping her knee in the process. "Um, Santana?" Raising her eyebrows, she simply nodded, encouraging him to continue. "I know we're not, like, friends or anything, but since we're going to be living together, at least for a little while - "

"Spit it out Puckerman."

"There's a party tonight, at Quinn's, and I wanted to know if you'd wanna go, just like, get out of the house or whatever. I'll make sure there's booze," he quickly added, seeing the clouds of doubt surfacing across her eyes.

She sighed, thinking of how to word things without sounding like an utter dipshit, before replying. "I don't know. I don't really do, well, people in general."

"Everybody needs somebody sometimes."

"I don't need anyone," she retorted, traces of a sneer evident in her face, before twisting toward the door of the garage, leaving him standing outside with a cigarette composed almost entirely of ash and a distinct look of confusion in his features.

* * *

Rebecca had left hours ago, signed papers in hand, and with nothing more than an attempt at a reassuring smile and a pat on the back, Santana was left in yet another unfamiliar place, living with two fairly unfamiliar people. The three were sat quietly at the kitchen table, identical plates of spaghetti in front of them, the only sounds being made were clinking utensils and occasional slurps from Puck's general direction.

Clearly her throat, his mother attempted to break the uncomfortable silence. "So, um, Santana, tell me about yourself."

"What specifically would you like to know? I've got nearly eighteen years I can catch you up on," she replied quickly before dropping her eyes back to her plate, realizing the harshness in her words. "I apologize. I, um, I mean, I work at the Lima Bean most of the time. I start my senior year soon, and I'm kind of hoping to get out of this cow town for college."

"Well that's lovely. Any idea where you would be headed?"

"Chicago, I think. I considered New York, but I'm not sure it's the best fit for me."

The older woman smiled and nodded before her son changed the subject, noting Santana's lack of interest in speaking about herself. She silently thanked the gods before realizing he had been discussing the party at Quinn's, and very nearly choked when his mother implied that it would be a _wonderful idea _for the two to go together. Coughing a few times, trying to gather her breath, Santana simply nodded before taking a long sip of her water, eyeing Puck over the rim of the glass with a look that could melt the flesh off of his admittedly attractive face.

* * *

The music could be easily heard from down the block as the two caramel skinned teenagers approached the Fabray house, one known for its less than intimate gatherings. _What the fuck am I thinking, walking into the lion's den? I wouldn't be surprised if I were literally eaten alive. _Despite her qualms, Santana kept an easy smile gracing her features, hoping it would hide her uncertainty. Puck opened the solid pine door without knocking, and the bass flooded her senses, soothing her wracked limbs, gently pulling her in, toward the students she'd never associated with. Unconsciously, she headed in what she believed to be the direction of the kitchen, because damn it to hell, this could not be done sober.

Brushing through the crowds of people, she cursed herself inwardly for not wearing something less revealing, as her shorts covered less area than McKinley's stellar football team did on the field. Taking note of the appreciative looks, she rolled her eyes, continuing on her path toward her ethyl savior, nearly dropping to her knees in prayer for something stronger than beer and wine coolers. Fixing a strong cup of Red Bull and vodka, she meandered through the throngs of people once more, avoiding the majority of the bodies attempting to make contact with her own, before finding her way out to the backyard, which was slightly quieter and significantly less filled. Pulling a cigarette out of the pocket of her shirt, she lit in, and hummed in appreciation of the buzzing that was quickly infiltrating her body, letting her eyelids flutter shut and her breaths to grow more even.

"Can I bum?" The voice behind her seemed unobtrusive at the very least, so she nodded, holding the pack out to the nameless guy who'd sidled up on her left. "Santana, right? I've seen you around school."

"Can't say the same about you - "

"Josh. Josh Coleman. Rugby captain," he replied easily, with a hint of a smirk creeping beneath what he must have believed to be a charming smile. _So freaking charming._"You don't really hang out with anybody though, yeah?"

Slightly off-put by the abrupt nature of his question, she retorted quickly, her words biting. "You're very perceptive, aren't you Josh?" Mistaking her cheek for interest, he moved closer, leaning against the fence surrounding the deck they stood on, raising an eyebrow before answering her clearly rhetorical question.

"Yeah, well, you know, I'm pretty good at reading people." She bit back a scoff before his lips were on hers, a stiff tongue darting in and out of her mouth as if he were kin to some strange species of lizard, the kind that is oblivious to its surroundings. She could easily taste the alcohol on his tongue, and felt she was sure to get a contact buzz if she didn't quickly remove this poraia from her vicinity. Pushing, he pushed back harder, and this time a south of the border stiffness brushed her thigh before her fist made firm connection with his jaw, effectively knocking him to the ground as she stood stock still, shaking. Her eyes were the only part of her body that managed to remain unfrozen, and she desperately scanned the expansive yard for a gate, because for fuck's sake, her legs were in no condition to jump the six foot tall fence tonight.

Jumping from the deck, she flew around the side of the house, sighing in relief as she saw an unblocked path back toward the sidewalk, as she took her phone out and dialed a number she'd had memorized since she was thirteen.

"Lima Crisis Center, this is Brittany."

"I need to speak to Megan; please tell me she's on call tonight."

"Please hold, and I'll transfer you."

_His rough hands cupping her breast, mistaking the trembles in her stomach to be desire. Eyes shut tight, she shook her head from left to right, again and again, as her limbs had been essentially paralyzed by fear._

_"Please, don't. Please just stop," she begged. She'd never begged before, but pleading was her last viable option, as she was less than half this man's size, and fighting him off was unlikely, to say the least. His lips pressed greedily into hers, and his fingers sluggishly removed her clothing, as she repeated the words before on a looped track. "Please, please stop."_

"This is Megan." Santana cracked, sobs shaking her body as the feeling of coarse fingers across her skin engulfed her, as if he were there with her, at this very moment. "Santana? Shit, Santana, if this _is _you, come down to the CC. I'll be waiting."

* * *

It was nearing midnight by the time she'd made it across town, chain smoking as her feet shuffled across the pavement. She finally shook her gaze from the concrete as she tossed a burnt out butt into the bushes framing the front door, meeting a pair of soft green eyes attached to a familiar body. Megan was perched on the bench, eying her readily, and within seconds, Santana was collapsed in her arms, sobbing pitifully, as warm hands made trails over her spine.

The woman cradling her had been with the Lima Crisis Center for well over ten years now, starting as a volunteer, the one who'd handled Santana's call five years ago. They'd developed an almost instantaneous bond, and kept in contact even after the case was settled. She was no stranger to the outbursts the young girl had from time to time, because it seemed that the men in this town wouldn't take no for an answer when it came to the brunette, and she'd been in a number of close calls since the night they'd crossed paths.

"Guy - at a party. I pushed him off, but - " was all she'd managed to say in the fifteen minutes she'd been sitting in Megan's lap. Nodding, the warm hands continued to trace patterns into Santana's back before gently stroking her hair, something she'd learned would calm her faster than words most nights.

"It's okay sweetheart. You're okay, and he's not going to hurt you." It was a steady mantra the two repeated back and forth to one another, one that helped sooth the young girl's ragged breaths, when she was brought back from the demons in her head.

"Um, Megan, there's a call for you. Should I send it to voicemail?" The melodic voice Santana had heard upon calling the center was behind her. There was something about it that was familiar, though she couldn't quite put a finger on why.

Looking up to meet green eyes, Santana urged her to take the call. "I'll be okay. Just a rough day. I'm fine, really." The older woman nodded, before silently walking into the center, preparing herself for another phone call like the one she'd just received from the quaking girl in the front of her workplace.

Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, she lit another cigarette, having lost count at which number it was at this point, and took a long drag before noticing she was not in fact alone. Looking toward her left, she saw a stunning blonde - the owner of the voice that had infiltrated her flashbacks, bringing her steadily towards the present. Santana received a small, wavering smile, and she tossed her neck slightly, encouraging the girl to approach her, for one reason or another. Sitting side by side on the bench, they were silent before the blonde spoke.

"I'm Brittany," she said softly, sneaking a cigarette out of the pack between them on the bench.

"Yeah, you answered the phone," she replied shortly, before cursing herself for pushing the girl away so quickly. "I'm sorry, I'm Santana."

"I know. I've seen you around McKinley." She lit up the cigarette, savoring the taste before casually blowing the smoke upward, the moon reflecting off of the thin cloud of haze that covered the two.

"Oh."

"Yeah. So, um, I'm fixing to head home. Would you, I don't know, like a ride? It's a little too late for you to be walking anywhere." Santana simply nodded, following the girl toward her car, a charcoal grey Mazda, before flicking their cigarettes in opposite directions.

Stopping, the brunette took in the car, before her eyes flicked to the expanse of blonde hair that sailed through the night's air as she slipped into the car. Hurriedly pulling open her own door and sliding in as well, she turned to Brittany, before incredulously stating three words. "The gas station."

Grinning cheekily at the the stunned brunette in her passenger seat, she winked before nearly quoting the words from their first interaction. "Impressive. I thought I was going to get away with that."


	4. Chapter 4

"Megan!" The second syllable of the word was drawn out, the voice calling the older woman holding the lightest tinge of a whine. "Please!" Impressively managing to separate the monosyllabic word into two distinct sounds, the combination of patheticism and desperation drowned the pleading words.

"You know darn good and well I can't give you her phone number. It's against policy," she replied halfheartedly, her eyes entirely unconvincing.

Huffing, the young girl fell into the chair across from the case worker. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she pleaded with the gods that her overdramatic nature would sway Megan into releasing the seven numerals from the captive file. "But it's an _emergency_."

Speaking out of character, and all too candidly, the woman scoffed. "I hardly consider your inability to keep it in your pants an '_emergency_,' Brittany dear." She looked up from her paperwork to find a scowl displayed across the girl's freckled features, and had to bite her lip to hold back a laugh. "You've run into her twice already without any help. What makes you think it won't happen a third time?"

* * *

"_Seeing through the lens started to become a part of my day-to-day life and I focused on the everyday. I looked for beauty in things that often go unnoticed. The lens allowed me to see the beauty from behind the safe remove of a steel-and-leather covered folding camera."_

Leaning back in the cushioning beneath her, Santana dog-eared the book she was holding before heading toward the counter, pulling a twenty out of her back pocket. She had browsed the art section of Barnes and Noble more times than she could count on her fingers and toes and eyelashes, but she'd never felt such a strong pull from words strung together on plain white paper. She'd never had someone capture, _so fucking exquisitely_, the way she felt the moment her tiny hands gripped her first film camera - the whirring of the shutter, the satisfaction of rewinding a fully exposed roll, the anticipation when waiting for those photos to be developed, being able to think of nothing else. Unconsciously, she felt the pointer finger on her right hand twitch in its grip of the novel, her muscle memory mimicking the extension of that appendage; it was almost as if her body missed the feeling as much as she knew her heart did.

Impatiently tapping a foot as the bespeckled bookstore employee took his _sweet time_ ringing up her _single_ purchase, _damn it_, she couldn't tug her thoughts away from the quote that had her itching for a camera - any camera. Scowling as she finally received her change, she snatched the book from his hands, tenderly tucking it into her bag as she jammed the bills into her back pocket once more. Heading back out into the excrutiatingly bright sunlight, Santana instinctively reached for her aviators, pulling them off of their perch in her dark hair. She tucked her headphones into her ears as she headed back down the sidewalk, toward a small pharmacy tucked into the corner of downtown Lima.

She was no stranger to the jingle of the bells attached to the doorway, nor to the vanilla scent that permeated the building, and she couldn't be further from a stranger to the owner, an elderly woman who'd taken a keen interest in Santana when the girl had first bounded through her doors, no older than eight.

"Hey Mrs. B!" she called as she made her way to the back of the shop, making a mental note to return for two glass bottles of coke, as was their tradition.

_"Mrs. B! I got 'em!" Chuckling lightly, the woman waved her arms inward, and the tiny girl sprinted back to the counter, hopping on her stool and, in her mind, smoothly sliding the second bottle of coke across the register counter, toward the shop keeper._

_More than accustomed to the young girl's expectations, the diminutive woman cocked an eyebrow and repeated their standard opening line, as always. "So, how's life?"_

_"Same old shit, different day," Santana replied cheekily, appreciating the look of shock she had inspired._

_"Santana Marie!" the woman scolded without real conviction, as she held back a laugh._

Browsing the admittedly limited selection in front of her, it didn't take long for her choice to be made. Pulling two green disposables cameras off of the wall, _fuck Kodak_, she turned back toward the refrigerated section of the shop, eying the back of the camera packaging.

"Fuck, _ow_! Watch where you're going!"

Looking up to meet furrowed brows, Santana shrunk into herself momentarily, before noting the color of the eyes just underneath the anger - blue, quite possibly the purest shade of the color in creation. "Britt?" Pulling three bottles out of their frosty prison, she raised her eyebrow and cocked her head, encouraging the tall blonde to follow her toward the counter, despite the fact that she'd yet received a verbal response, and she couldn't be sure that the girl wasn't legitimately upset. _Why do I walk like a drunk fucking mac truck? Smooth, Lopez, seriously smooth. _

"Mrs. B, this is Brittany. I met her yesterday," she said coolly, introducing the two, and sliding the drink across the counter-top as per usual. "Britt, Mrs. B," she continued, waving a hand between the two.

Evidently recovering from wherever her mind had floated off to, the tall blonde looked up and grinned. "Mrs. B and I go way back. She used to watch me while my mom worked down the street." Popping the top of the Coke against the edge of the counter, she casually pulled the bottle to her lips, her tongue poking out to catch a stray drop near the corner of her mouth. _Sweet baby Jesus, that level of innate sexuality should be illegal_. Brittany caught her unabashed staring, and winked before slowly turning her attention to the two cameras still clutched tightly in caramel hands. "What are you doing with those?" With a sandpaper tongue and absolutely _no game_, Santana found it impossible to form any semblance of a sentence, and therefore merely shrugged. "Film's cooler than digital. My mom used to let me mess around with the cameras in her shop when I was younger, and it's more fun not to be able to choose exactly what you want the photo to come out like, you know? Sometimes it's better not to be able to plan it."

Mouth slightly open, Santana nodded, still unable to get her tongue to wrap around the idea that verbalization might be key in getting to know this gorgeous, enigmatic, full-of-surprises-but-in-a-good way woman that she'd stumbled upon, both literally and figuratively, of course.

" - like to see them?"

Shaking her head clear, she realized she was being spoken to. "I'm sorry - what?"

Chuckling at the slight flush filling caramel cheeks, the blonde cocked her head and grinned. "I _asked _if you wanted to come with me to my mom's shop - an antique place about a block away. I'm sure she's got some cameras in there somewhere, and I promise they'll be better than a few throw away Fujifilms." Sheepishly nodding, Santana placed the two disposable cameras on the counter before she felt her hand encompassed in warmth, milky white fingers damn near dragging her out of the building, a smile rivaling the sun looking back at her.

* * *

"See?" She replied, as the once again speechless girl in front of her gingerly brushed her fingertips against the cameras settled gently on a small table in the very back of the store. "Nikon, Kodak, Yashica, and _oh_! Polaroid!"

After flipping the flash up and checking for film, Santana slipped her hand into a side strap before carefully centering the oblivious blonde in her view finder. The flash startling her, Brittany turned back with a look of horror across her face until her eyes faded from shocked, to blank, finally settling on mischievous. Feeling arms wrap around her waist, the smaller girl squirmed, trying to get away from the tickling hands that now surrounded her, making her squeal in laughter while her eyes filled with tears. "Britt! Stop!" she giggled, drawing out the single syllable of that beautiful, charismatic, unpredictable girl's name.

"Fine, fine!" she laughed back, holding her hands up in mock truce. "But only if you do one thing." Santana hummed back, nodding. "Let me take a picture of you."

"Oh, no. Nope. Absolutely not. You can go back to tickling me now. I stay behind the camera for a reason Britt."

"What if I take it with you? A picture of the two of us." Eyebrows furrowed and biting her bottom lip, she considered the offer, before nodding again, much more slowly. Slipping the camera out of her hands, the blonde settled it in her own, turning the flash towards the two of them, before sliding her arm around caramel shoulders, pulling her in more closer. "Ready? One, two - "

If three was ever said, Santana didn't hear it. She heard nothing and saw nothing, as her other senses were working in overdrive. She could only focus on the way Brittany's warm hand cupped her shoulder, before it journeyed back, fingertips brushing against the nape of her neck before pulling her slightly closer. She only remembered the feeling of soft lips on hers, for a fleeting moment - the slightly fizzy taste of coke on those lips. She noticed the goosebumps that feathered her skin, despite the heat, and the fluttering in her stomach, because _what the fuck was that_?

She was only tugged from her thoughts by a slight tap on her nose, causing her to look up and catch those damned blue eyes again. Brittany slipped the two photos into her backpack before scurrying into a door she hadn't noticed before. Santana returned to admiring the expanse of cameras before her, each lens and strap and film canister tugging at her heart strings, until she felt two arms circle her waist and a head lean over her shoulder.

"Pick one." Twisting over, she shot the blonde a look of pure confusion. "I talked to my mom, and she said you could take one. So," she continued, dragging the word out, "pick!"

"I couldn't. I mean, I can't."

"Please do. I think you see a lot of things differently than most people Santana, and I want to be able to see what you see." Reaching forward, she grasped the body of an extremely old Nikkormat FTN, one that reminded her of her first camera. Brittany nodded delightedly, and intertwined their fingers again, pulling her into the warm, breezy streets, the smile on her face incomparable.

_No seriously, what the fuck is that fluttering? _


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I don't own Glee, nor do I own the novel Pop Salvation. I own a shitty laptop that overheats and a chihuahua who barks too loudly for me to focus half the time. Therefore, I apologize for this update taking such a long time - I've had a killer case of writer's block, and I'm still not entirely pleased with how this chapter panned out. **

Slipping her backpack off of her shoulders, still warm from an afternoon in the sun with a girl that outshone the bright star, the small girl kicked off her shoes and settled onto her bed, fingering the second photo that had been taken that day. She was memorizing every detail from the outside, burning the image into her retinas, because the whirlwind of emotions she'd experienced had already emblazoned themselves on her heart. Taking in the slight flush that covered her cheeks, just underneath her hooded eyelids, she didn't hear the knock that resonated through her room.

"Hey, sorry. You didn't answer, but um, dinner's ready." Looking up, she saw the tall boy watching her carefully, the slight smile playing on her lips an expression he'd yet to see.

"Puck?" she called back, before he'd had a chance to walk out. "What do you know about a girl named Brittany? Tall, blonde - "

"Unfairly fucking gorgeous?" He grinned, as the girl in front of him nodded sheepishly. "Britt's cool. Kind of keeps to herself though, you know?" Santana nodded again, trying to conceal the look of sheer confusion flooding her features. "So, just come on down when you're ready I guess."

_Keeps to herself? In what fucking way? _Thinking back over the past few days, those three words would hardly be the ones she used to describe Brittany. _She certainly hadn't kept her flirtatious winks or smooth hands or dazzlingly grins or those perfect fucking _lips _to herself damn it. _

* * *

Wisps of smoke eased through the air, clinging to her every bit of her, enveloping the caramel skin in a security blanket of menthol and nicotine. Taking a long, deep drag, Santana held the puff until she felt her chest tightening, distracting her from the flurry of thoughts she'd been yet unable to shut off. Closing her eyes, she let the late night breeze sooth her over warmed skin as the afternoon's moments replayed on a loop behind her eyelids. So determined on pushing those memories out of her conscious, she didn't hear the door open behind her, and it wasn't until she felt cool water on the back of her neck did she realize she wasn't alone. She jumped slightly, at the surprising, though not entirely unwelcome appearance of Puck, two beers settled in between the fingers of his left hand, as he skillfully lit a cigarette with his right. He nudged her again with the bottle, and after tucking her Marlboro firmly between her lips, she eased the cap off, twisting it beneath her shirt, nodding her thanks after a swig passed her lips.

"Rough day Lopez? You sure as hell looked like you needed a drink earlier, and now that you're outside chain smoking at midnight, I figure I was right."

She chuckled lightly, in spite of herself, but furrowed her brows before replying. "I don't know if rough would be the word, but just, like, fuck," she finished, not sure if she could expound any further. _Even if I could, do I honestly want to?_

"Boy problems? Do I need to kick some ass?" She quirked an eyebrow in his direction. "You don't talk about feelings and shit, do you?" She smirked, before shaking her head.

"That'd be a negative, Ghost Rider. On all three counts."

"Figured," he continued nonchalantly. "Well, if it counts for anything, when you need to talk, I'll listen. When someone fucks you over, I've got your back. When my dad walked out, I promised myself I'd do whatever it took to protect my family. You live here, you eat dinner here, you know about my not-so-secret smoke spot - that means family to me Santana. So, if you need me, you know where to find me," he finished with a shrug, before going to walk back inside with his half empty beer.

"Puck?" He turned to look back over his shoulder, catching her eyes. "I'm gay." He ran a hand through his mohawk, scratching at the nape of his neck before pulling out a second cigarette and lighting up. Santana allowed it to burn halfway down to the butt before probing. "Please say something."

"Is that why you asked about Britt earlier? Because I don't think she's - "

"She kissed me."

His eyes went wide and his hand ran the familiar trail through his hair once more before nodding. "Okay. Okay, yeah. Well, do you like her?" She returned his nod, much more shyly. "So what are we gonna do about it? How do you plan on getting your lady?"

"Fuck Puck, I don't know." Her hands flew to her mouth, her teeth assaulting the already too-short nails there.

"Are you trying to tell me that Santana Lopez has absolutely _no game_?" The hand in her mouth connected solidly with his bicep, and the insecurity clouding her typically confident aura was evident. "Okay, shit. I'm sorry." He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth in thought before continuing. "You've been fiddling around with that camera since you got home. Ask her if she knows anywhere like, artistic or whatever to go take pictures."

A shy smile spreads across her features, and Puck easily returns it, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her in for a hug. Surprisingly, her arms wrap around his waist, and she pushes up onto the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek quickly. "Thanks Puck."

He smiles again before shrugging in indifference. "Yeah, yeah. I'm awesome, I know."

* * *

Santana had been fidgeting in bed for nearly an hour, flipping her phone in circles for half that time before gathering the courage to open her text messages and send one to the blonde who'd been invading her thoughts for the past week.

**Hey Britt, are you working today?**

Nope. :) Why, what's up?

Santana tugged on the her bottom lip, trying to conjure some semblance of the confidence she possessed when flirting with guys; she had realized quickly how much harder it was with Brittany, because it actually meant something.

**Well, some really cute girl gave me a camera, and I haven't been able to use it just yet. ;)**

Really cute, huh? Should I be jealous?

_Yes, yes you should be, because that means you like me._ She bit down on her bottom lip once more, recoiling when she tasted blood. She quickly swiped her tongue over the mark she'd left, before returning her thoughts to forming a sentence that made her sound less like a socially inept douchelord, and more like a mildly fascinating, if not slightly alluring photographical engenue.

**Nope, because you're kind of the only one I want to spend my day with.  
**Well, in that case, I'd be honored to be your first model Ms. Lopez. I'll pick you up in thirty. :)

Santana couldn't help the squeak that escaped her lips before jumping off of her bed, running towards Puck's room before bounding in without answering. Though he was listening to music, he was nearly asleep, so she catapulted herself onto his chest and ripped the earphones out of his ears before repeating the words "she said yes" on a loop, bouncing on every third word. Despite the fact that the tiny girl was probably bruising his ribs and had _definitely _woken him up, he couldn't help but mirror the grin plastered across her features. Before he could congratulate her on summoning up at least _a little _game, her expression morphed into one of sheer horror.

"She said yes. _She said yes._ Oh fuck! What am I going to wear?" Her thoughts were seeping aloud, and Puck stifled a chuckle as she turned and ran out with twice the speed she had rushing in.

* * *

Santana's right hand coasted along the gentle breeze fluttering alongside the car, swirling and dipping and embracing every turbulent bump in the air as they drove in a surprisingly comfortable silence. The wind caressing warm caramel fingertips was the only tangible thing keeping her from allowing the tumultuous thoughts running rampant in her brain to take over. She was hyperaware of every sensation flooding her body - the warmth of the sunkissed leather on the back of thin thighs, the freckled hand on the gear shift in close proximity to shaking knees, the occasional brush of long, blonde hair on her bare shoulders as the current in the car kept it continually whipping around. She hadn't the slightest idea where they going, but to be perfectly honest, she didn't care.

"We're here," Brittany whispered, almost in reverence. Looking up to follow the blonde's gaze, Santana took in the beauty that surrounded her, almost overwhelmed. She'd been brought to the outskirts of Lima, far away from the city and the small town's form of bustle. Lying before her was a small river, in no hurry to move further downward the land, trickling slowly. It was surrounded by a sparse forest and covered by a rusty bridge that had seemingly survived the test of time.

"It's beautiful Britt, really."

The two girls slid from the car, the smaller of the two immediately twisting the camera strap around her forearm, clutching the precious metal in two hands, peering through the viewfinder. Brittany allowed her time to absorb the scenery and took to exploring on her own, allowing the greens and blues and silvers and reds to blur before her eyes as she spun in circles, her head thrown back toward the sky. Santana heard her laughs and despite the landscape, she couldn't tug her eyes away from the natural beauty moving in front of her. The blonde was perfection and freedom and joy personified as her arms flung in every direction, simultaneously haphazard and calculated. She didn't lose balance or dizzy herself as she continually danced to the music rushing through her veins, and it wasn't until she heard the shutter of the camera approaching her that she was removed from her reverie. She grinned in Santana's direction, cocking her head to the side, and heard the shutter once more, capturing the windswept bangs fluttering around her cheekbones, the blue eyes mimicking the river behind her, and the freckles that outperformed the constellations in the heavens.

Brittany playfully pinched the smaller girl's waist, bounding toward the car to grab their things as Santana rewound the 27 frames of inexplicable glory she'd just been privy to. After inserting another roll of film, _a bitch and a half to accomplish since she'd been out of practice_, she found the blue eyes again, settled on a blanket near the slow moving water with their bags and a pair of sandwiches. They sat quietly, occasionally trading shy glances, enjoying the comfort of the light sounds around them coupled with the exhiliration of being so near one another.

Brushing the crumbs off her hands, Brittany announced she was tired, and curled up immediately on the blanket. Pulling the book out of her bag, Santana leaned back onto the backpack, and felt a body scoot closer to her own, grinning down as she saw blonde hair splayed softly near her waist. Tugging the dancer upward, Brittany ended up sleeping soundly on the smaller girl's stomach, absentmindedly twisting a finger around the strings at the end of Santana's frayed shorts.

If she were honest with herself, she'd admit that she hadn't gotten much farther into the book in her lap than she'd been when they'd sat down. Despite her best attempts at controlling her wandering eyes, urging them to stick to the rows of letters and punctuation, she'd continually found her gaze darting back to the sweetly slumbering blonde on her torso.

"Read to me," Brittany murmured quietly, not opening her eyes, but wriggling around enough to convince Santana that she was awake. "It must be good if you've been pretending to read it all this time," she continued, giggling softly.

Rolling her eyes and simultaneously blushing at being discovered, Santana cleared her throat, and decided not to fight the dancer on her request. _Whipped already? Where's your backbone Lopez?_

"_The snapshots were a collaboration between us. We were experimenting and making art together, though separated by the lens. As we grew closer the photographs became more intimate_..."

Stifling a yawn, Brittany nuzzled into the crook of Santana's neck, nodding for her to continue, as she'd trailed off slightly, now fighting sleep herself.

"_His perfection was uninhibited and unknown to him. Beauty. Raw beauty. There was a partnership and love affair in the images we created. A new inspiration occured to me - the fine art nude_."

Just barely making it through the sentence, Santana had fallen asleep, her head nestled firmly atop a blanket of blonde curls. The body attached to those curls sighed in contentment before wrapping an arm around the slender waist she'd been sleeping on previously and falling asleep herself, the last words read playing on a melodic loop in the back of her mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: A few things:**

1. Thank you for all of the story alerts and favorites, first off. :)  
2. There is a trigger warning in place for this chapter, in regards to sexual abuse. As always, it isn't anything graphic, but I do want to give fair warning to those who are sensitive to subjects such as that. It's the first paragraph after the first cut, for those who want to skip it.  
3. If there is anything you want to see, or any criticisms at all, please don't hesitate to review or PM me. I take everything into consideration, including the introduction of potential relationships. I plan on bringing in other characters as the story progresses, though the next two or three chapters have been carved out after a brainstorming session with my best friend. So, please, let me know what you guys are thinking!

* * *

Slipping the damp towel through her belt loops, the petite girl with skin the color of the coffee she'd spent the entire day serving flipped the last of the chairs onto a two-top in the back corner of the Lima Bean. A knock on the door warranted an immediate and instinctive response of "we're closed," yet the knocking continued, more frantic. Flipping around, she was met with a grinning blonde, blue eyes sparkling through the freshly wiped down front door, a bag of take out in one hand and a overzealous wave occupying the other. Her free hand pointed towards the handle, and shaking her head and grinning slightly, Santana made her way across the small cafe to unlock the door.

"Hi," she replied, suddenly shy in the presence of the girl who'd occupied her thoughts since the moment they'd encountered each other, just over a week ago.

"Hi yourself," Brittany quipped in response. Before another word could pass Santana's lips, inquiring as to why the blonde was at her workplace, at ten o'clock at night, with a bag of god knows what, the tall girl continued speaking, though rambling might have been a more appropriate verb to describe the flurry of words showering down on the barista. "I hadn't heard from you in a few days, so I passed by your house, and Puck said you'd been working, like, nonstop, so I grabbed sushi, and thought maybe you could come over and watch a movie or something?" She finally paused to take a breath. "I kind of missed you."

A light flush covered Santana's cheek, though she knew full well it wasn't visible. "Do you ever stop talking Britt-Britt?" The blonde merely shook her head in response, the laughter evident in her slight smirk and dancing eyes. "Let me finish closing up, and we can leave. A movie sounds great."

Brittany popped up on the counter and carefully watched as Santana finished her chores for the night. A look of tranquility filled the girl's features as she made repetitious movements across the floor, and the perched blonde couldn't help but smile as she watched the easiness that her counterpart found in such simple activities. After two years, the motions were second nature to the Lima Bean's hardest working employee, and despite her dislike for cleaning in general, closing the shop down was a calmant for her, a stability in a life that had been nothing less than chaotic for six years.

Flipping the final few lights, she intertwined her fingers with the warm hands she was beginning to find familiar, _butterflies be damned_, and didn't let the digits loose until they had to separate at Brittany's car.

Had anyone attempted to tell Santana that nine days after laying eyes on the long blonde locks tickling her cheek, a mere 144 hours after holding a proper conversation with the lips nestled near her neck, that she'd be in this position, a scoff and a few biting words later, the person would have been licking their wounds far from the temperamental girl. Logic aside, however, here she lay, limbs intertwined with the blonde in question, stomach full to bursting with edamame and crunchy California rolls, lazily watching images flick past her drooping eyelids.

"Come on, let's get you to bed," she whispered into the caramel skin she had been nuzzling.

Santana shook her head in protest. "I need to go home." It may have been an innocent enough suggestion, but she had never shared a bed with anyone, excluding obvious reasons, and she'd certainly never woken up next to those _reasons _the following morning.

"It's well past one in the morning honey. I'll sleep in the guest room if it makes you more comfortable." _How the fuck does she do that? _Santana's ponytail bobbed in an affirmative response this time, a shadow of guilt crossing her features. Gingerly cupping her cheek and placing a lingering kiss on her forehead, Brittany stood, turning back to the girl curled up on her couch cushions, now seemingly smaller than before. "It's okay, really. I'll go grab you something to sleep in. There's a spare toothbrush in the drawer of the downstairs bathroom. Just meet me upstairs when you're finished."

* * *

She could feel coarse hands digging into her hip bones, holding her steady as the heavy weight in her chest mimicked the weight covering the rest of her body. She pushed the broad shoulders away with all of her strength before admitting to herself that she was helpless, devoid of any power. Any time she'd attempt to sit up, she'd be roughly slammed back on the bed, the hold on her tightening. Each thrust seemed to push her voice further into her throat, as her screams became whimpers; conversely, as she became silent, his grunts filled the room, seeming to echo off of the walls as his nails dug into her back, leaving crescent scars in the sensitive flesh. Those fingers dragged further down, and again back up, but more softly this time, with near tenderness. Her eyes flew open, taking in her surroundings, realizing she was miles and years from the incident. The sensations, however, continued, sending a shiver down her spine as she made attempts to absolve herself of tears and bring oxygen back into her heaving chest.

_It was just a dream. You're okay. He's not going to hurt you. It was just a dream._

"You _are _okay. I won't let him hurt you," she heard in response, not realizing she'd in fact been speaking aloud. She sat up shakily, and noticed Brittany's right hand followed her, continuing to alternate between warm hands and gentle nails raking her back.

Brown eyed coated over in old demons met blue, swimming in concern. "Can you stay with me?" The blonde merely nodded in response, attuned to the accurate assumption that they wouldn't be talking about the provocation that brought her there in the first place - the situation, the screams, or the whimpers.

Brittany settled onto the familiar sheets, pulling the comforter up from the foot of the bed, victimized by Santana's incessant slumberous flailing. The smaller girl eyed her readily before following suit then scooting across the bed until she felt the warmth of the blonde's chest on her back and the soothing vibrations of her heartbeat echoing through tired muscles. "Is this okay?"

Brittany nodded into her back, wrapping an arm securely around the slender waist in front of her and intertwining their fingers once she'd found the shaking hand attached to the girl nestled in her arms. She planted a kiss on Santana's exposed shoulder before repeating the sentence from earlier, altering it slightly. "I won't let them hurt you."

* * *

Long lashes fluttered open, protesting against the light coming in from the blinds before noticing there was no one else in the bed. Brittany cocked an ear, but heard nothing from any portion of her house, and upon checking her phone, found no missed calls or texts to explain Santana's absence. She let out a lengthy sigh of resignation, thinking maybe the nightmare had triggered something to make her leave without warning, and trudged into the bathroom, still half-comatose and fully confused.

_Got called into work early :(  
you looked too peaceful to wake up.  
Lunch break at twelve, meet me? I hope so :)  
lots of o's, but even more x's  
S_

Brittany couldn't help but grin at the five post-it notes arranged in a misshapen heart on her mirror, urging her body to continue its journey toward the shower, because a quick glance at her phone showed it was nearly eleven. As soap coated every inch of her slender frame, her fingers worked their way through tangled locks, perpetuating the citrus scent already filling the room. She'd honestly considered entering her shower time into the Guinness Book of World Records, because within twenty minutes she was out of the bathroom, and even more importantly, out of the door.

She realized halfway to the Lima Bean that she was more than a half an hour early, and decided to explore the stores around the coffee shop until Santana's lunch break. She found her ears met with the light chimes of a bell before looking up and realizing she'd wandered into a small florist's shop, the one she'd accompany her father to every year to pick out a bouquet for Mother's Day.

The older woman behind the counter looked up with a soft smile, watching the tall blonde in front of her gently finger the different flowers, occasionally leaning forward to take in a satisfied breath of the fragrance. "Looking for anything in particular Britt? I haven't seen you in a while."

"I don't know. I just kind of, ended up here. I think I'd like to get flowers for my - " _Well shit, what is she? Friend? Girlfriend? _"But I don't know what to get."

"Tell me about them, this person who has you so wonderfully tongue tied," she breathed out, a cross between an exhale and a chuckle. Her use of _them _was not lost on the young blonde, who let out an exhale of her own, as her thoughts filled with every detail of the beautiful woman she had memorized.

"They're wonderful, amazing even. Dark hair, sunkissed skin, and this eyes that like, zap you. They pull you in and you're a goner, you know? They're smart, and sweet, and so funny, but I don't think they see all of that - and god, she's the most talented photographer - " Her breath caught in her throat, and she willed her body to swallow the enormous lump in her throat.

The florist seemed unfazed by the use of a female pronoun and sent a soft smile towards the cowering girl in front of her. "Got it bad for Santana I see?" She turned away, rifling through the flowers behind the counter before continuing, offering an explanation for the yet unsaid question bouncing around in Brittany's brain. "She comes in five or six times a year, to pick up the same bouquet for her parent's graves - birthdays, their wedding anniversary, Mother's and Father's day usually, and then the anniversary of their death." Plucking a set of flowers in various shades of orange and yellow, the older woman gestured to the wrapped bundle, receiving a nod and a bright smile in return.

"Thank you. They're perfect," she whispered, the tone in her voice bordering in reverence. She couldn't, however, tug her mind away from the conversation they'd just had, even after paying and exiting the shop. Checking her wrist, she noticed she still had a few minutes before noon, and sat down on a bench across the street from the beautiful girl she was set to meet, lighting a cigarette to calm her shaking limbs. She may have only met Santana ten days ago, but she was quickly realizing what a walking contradiction the girl was, and combined with the secrets she held in regards to her past, Brittany was having a hard damn time keeping up. She was open with affection, but guarded when it came to emotions. She seemed confident, if slightly cocky, but when they were together, she was humble, nearly shy. When she'd spoken to Puck, he'd said she didn't really have friends before, but they'd become close almost instantaneously. Despite the fact that academically, she wasn't the brightest, Brittany liked puzzles, and Santana was giving her a run for her money with the thousands of pieces it seemed she'd have to fit together to understand why the mysterious girl was the way she was.

Shaken from her thoughts, she felt a warmth on her right side, and hardly had time to react before the cigarette resting between her fingers was plucked away. She turned toward the intruder and caught twinkling mocha eyes before Santana winked and took a long drag.

"Hey you," she grinned, settled against the arm of the bench so she could stretch her legs over Brittany's lap.

"Hey yourself," the blonde replied, pressing their lips together after Santana had blown away her last drag. "How's work so far?"

"Not terrible, but certainly less fun than watching crappy TV with you in bed all day," she chuckled, and the smile on her face grew wider, mimicking the blonde's. "My boss is going to let me leave early though. I have to go do paperwork with Puck's mom this afternoon," she continued nonchalantly.

"What kind of paperwork?" The inquiry may have seemed innocent to an eavesdropper, but Brittany was desperately clinging to the hope of receiving another piece of the elusive puzzle that she'd determined the girl to be.

Santana faltered slightly, unsure how much would need to be explained once she divulged her plans to move out of the Puckerman's household. She liked Brittany, if _fucking butterflies_ were any inclination toward her feelings, but was she honestly prepared to explain her parent's accident, and years of foster care? Even more so than that, would the conversation turn to _him_? After her nightmare the evening prior, she knew if the blonde stuck around for much longer, explanations would be necessary. So, she elected to try and keep things as simple as possible. "I'm getting an apartment, and Puck's mom is helping me."

"Oh," Brittany responded, smiling brightly after she took in the news. "Won't that be hard though - to pay the bills and go to school?"

She gave a shrug of indifference. "I've got money saved. I'll be okay Britt." The blonde simply nodded in response, unconvinced, handing her pack of cigarettes to Santana, both girls lighting up again, despite the fact that neither honestly smoked much. "I was wondering though - " Brittany hummed in response, attempting to light the menthol despite the wind, praying she wouldn't catch her bangs on fire _again. _"Would you come to Ikea with me tomorrow? I know it's like, two hours away, but I'll give you gas money, and I - I'd just really like you there, so do you - "

She was cut off by a searing kiss as Brittany's free hand wrapped around her neck, tugging her closer, her thumb gently pressing into Santana's cheek. "Do you ever stop talking?" she grinned, taking note of the flush covering the caramel skin, her laugh lilting softly before she continued. "I'd love to. It's a date, 500 Days of Summer style."


	7. Chapter 7

Repetitive dull thuds echoed throughout the kitchen, accompanied by occasional cereal slurping and the final gurgles from the coffee pot. Clad in cut offs and a tank, Santana bounced at the kitchen bar, feet dangling off of the stool she was perched on, knocking against the wooden legs and drawing shapes in the remaining milk of her bowl. Her ears were met with her name, called out in frustration, and she smiled sheepishly at the woman who'd been watching her fidget in excitement for the past fifteen minutes.

"I'm sorry Mama Puck. I just can't sit still," she mumbled, trying to hide the grin creeping over her features.

"I know, but try not to take it out on the furniture, or else when you two head to Ikea, you're buying me a new kitchen set," the woman replied easily, her smile matching the young girl's. Santana continued bouncing, tilting her head side to side and humming under her breath. "Sweetheart, can I ask you something?"

The pet names had come easily, and the Puckerman household was the first foster setting that had felt similar to a home. Santana raised her eyebrows at the middle aged woman in front of her before nodding, her body still buzzing with energy.

"Is Brittany more than a friend to you?" The young girl immediately stilled, her focus now burning holes in the cereal bowl in front of her. "I know it's a tad personal, but before you answer, please know that your response has no impact on my feelings towards you. I'll care about you just the same. I just wanted to know, since she's supposed to stay over after your birthday dinner."

A honk from the driveway broke the palpable silence, and Santana hopped off of the stool, grabbing her bag and slinging it over one shoulder. Chocolate eyes locked with hazel, and she wrapped the woman in a tight embrace, not pulling away entirely as she finally found the elusive words to answer her foster mom. "I want her to be more than a friend, but she isn't yet. As far as what I'm assuming your next question will be - I'm gay Mama P." Her voice caught before she continued. "It - it caused some trouble in a few of my previous placements, so I just stopped telling people." Taking a deep breath, she finished off her speech, hoping for understanding. "As for her staying the night, I would appreciate if she still could, as I guarantee that nothing will happen. I respect you too much for that. But if you are uncomfortable with it, I understand."

A warmth spread throughout Santana's limbs as she was wrapped into another hug. She nestled into the woman's neck, exhaling her nerves and breathing in the comfort she'd longed for in an embrace such as this. "She can still stay. I trust you, and I love you Santana. I hope you'll always consider this your second home."

Pulling away before the tears threatening around her eyelashes could fall, the young girl nodded. "I love you too Mama P. I gotta go though." She turned toward the front door, looking back over her shoulder once to offer a shy smile, wiggling her fingers in a goodbye.

Once out of the house, Santana had to refrain from skipping to the charcoal car in the driveway, attempting not to look overeager. She slipped into the passenger's seat and had barely settled shut the door before her head was tugged gently to the left and soft lips pressed into her own.

"Hey," she whispered against the blonde's lips. "I missed you, and from the look of it, you missed me too," she giggled. Brittany shrugged her shoulders sheepishly, biting her lip before nodding and pulling out onto the quiet street. As soon as she'd shifted into drive, she tossed an auxiliary cord into Santana's lap before wrapping her fingers around the girl's free hand. "You sure you want DJ Lopez up in this bitch?" she said, quirking an eyebrow. "Two hours is a long time for you to have to put up with my musical selections."

"I think I'll manage."

Plugging in her phone, Santana turned the volume low, very nearly silent, her earlier confidence flying out of the open windows and into the wind. The girl in the driver's seat said nothing until she heard the beat building, twisting the volume dial up as high as it could go, the bass from her backseat perfectly matching the drumming her hands were doing on the steering wheel as she wriggled in her seat. If it weren't for the fact that Brittany was being _too fucking adorable for words_, Santana might have been a little upset at losing the grip she'd had on the girl's hand, now tapping away in time with the notes.

_I feel so close to you right now - it's a force field _

_I wear my heart upon my sleeve, like a big deal_

Looking over at the driver's seat, she couldn't help but giggle as the blonde bounced around, much as she herself had been doing this morning, and without warning, she too was belting along with the song, dancing in her seat.

_Your love pours down on me, surround me like a waterfall_

_And there's no stopping us right now, I feel so close to you right now_

"Whoa. Hold up," Brittany said, throwing her eyes across the car and silencing the radio. "You can _sing_?"

Santana shook her head vehemently from side to side. "No. I can't. I don't sing."

"You were just singing." She shook her head again, avoiding the piercing blue eyes she could feel on her skin. "Yes, you were. Your voice is amazing."

The girl in the passenger seat let her head drop even further, the ends of her hair tickling her bare knees, before letting out a long sigh. "I don't _usually_sing. I haven't like that since - "

The blonde gave her a second to continue, but pressed when it seemed as if Santana was going to finish the sentence - a sentence she wanted to hear the end of. "Since what?"

"Since my parents died," she finally deadpanned, doing her damnest not to look into the eyes locked on her. She could feel the emotions bubbling over those eyelashes - sadness, concern, and _understanding_?

Turning to meet the eye contact she still felt as her cheeks burned, she saw Brittany nodding, her baby blues threatening to spill over with tears as a wan smile brushed across her features. "I get it." Such a large part of her wanted to scream back _no, you don't_, but a stronger, albeit smaller section, whispered _hear her out._"My dad died when I was in seventh grade, and I couldn't dance for years. I felt guilty for finding joy in something when he couldn't anymore."

"What changed? How did you stop feeling that way?" It was a loaded question, and she knew it, but after waking up every morning for the majority of her childhood, singing along with her mother as they made breakfast, she wanted to know what could have possibly helped Brittany move past the guilt - the guilt she had in her heart as well.

"Honestly? Meeting you." Santana's brow furrowed, and she wasn't entirely convinced she had heard the girl right. "After I dropped you off that night, I drove straight home and went into the shed in our backyard. My dad had set it up as a studio for me to practice when I was younger, and I hadn't been in there since his funeral. It just felt like I needed to be there. So I danced, for hours, and I felt my heart getting a little lighter. I had been holding back so much, afraid to let anyone in, but I realized that I couldn't do that for you, let you in I mean, if my heart was still so heavy. I woke up on the floor the next morning, more sore than I could ever tell you," she laughed, the fluttering of her voice matching the feelings in Santana's chest, "and I got in my car to drive back to work, to beg Megan for your number. She wouldn't give it to me, but then we ran into each other at Mrs. B's, and, well, you know the rest from there. So yes, meeting you was what helped me stop feeling guilty for being happy, because that night in the studio, I felt my dad there. I know he would have loved you, and I knew he wanted me to be happy."

The butterflies that had invaded Santana's chest were threatening to burst through her bones and muscles and skin, filling the car with thousands of fluttering wings indicative of _how damn fast _she was falling for the beautiful girl who's hand she now held in a death grip. She couldn't fight the smile creeping across her face, despite the inklings of tears in the corner of her eyes. She had no words to compare to the beautiful soliliquy she'd just been given, and thankfully they must have crossed into an alternate universe, because her phone shuffled to a song that easily broke the silence, instead of decreasing the oxygen level in the car further. The last thing Santana needed was a song about falling in love with a blue eyed blonde on the interstate to fill the speakers of the Mazda. _Love? I can't - could I? _

Her train of thought was broken by Brittany's voice floating into her ears again, the typically melodic tone set deeper, almost husky. "You know, a lot of girls be thinking my songs are about them. But this is not to get confused - this one's for you." Turning back to the girl behind the steering wheel, she met sparkling blue eyes, crinkled at the corners as the blonde began rapping, something she was admittedly very good at. "Baby, you're my everything. You're all I ever wanted. We can do it real big - bigger than you've ever done it. You be up on everything, them other hoes ain't never on it. I want this forever, I swear I could spend whatever on it." She winked in Santana's direction, earning a dimpled smile in return, as they drove the rest of the way to West Chester, Ohio, hand in hand, laughing and singing at the top of their lungs.

* * *

"Too squishy," she decided, before hopping across the aisle to the next mattress. "Not squishy enough."

"Okay Goldilocks. We do have an entire apartment to furnish, you know that right?" Santana replied giggling. It was hard not to feel like a six year old again, as they tested out every bedroom set and mattress in the building, bouncing a sufficient number of times to declare each one they'd yet tried unworthy.

"But the bed is the most important part!" She hopped again, to the next set, yanking on a caramel hand to bring the girl with her. They collapsed on the bed, holding their stomachs as another round of laughter flew through them. As their giggles died down, Brittany propped herself up on one elbow, watching the beautiful girl in front of her catch her breath before long, dark eyelashes fluttered open.

Santana mirrored her counterpart, analyzing the girl's body language before speaking in a voice nearly an octave lower. "Britt, what are we doing?"

"We're picking out your furniture, obviously," she replied, rolling her eyes as if I had completely missed the point of this road trip.

"No. I mean _us. _Are we - I mean, do you want to be - " The blonde cocked her head to the side, widening her eyes slightly, before nodding for Santana to continue. "I just mean - Puck's mom asked if you were more than a friend, and I honestly didn't know what to say. I want you to be more, but - "

Brittany's lips successfully pushed the rest of the sentence back down Santana's throat, and her tongue wiped away any insecurities that may have been resting on plump lips. Her thumbs smoothed the worries, and pulling away, foreheads rested together, the hand on the back of a caramel neck sent shivers of strength down her spine.

"All the more reason that you should listen to my opinion on beds. I figure I'll be in it soon enough," she whispered with a wink, before rising from the mattress and walking in the direction of the living room sets, successfully focusing all of Santana's attention on the mile long legs tucked underneath God's gift to the planet, which was barely covered by denim shorts. _And the Nobel Prize for Best Seduction Technique? She's going to be the death of me. _

* * *

"No, absolutely not."

"Come on!"

"I said no."

"Is our first fight really going to be over a _chair _Ms. Lopez?"

"Considering it's the ugliest chair I've seen in my life, yes. Yes it will." Pulling her bottom lip out with her thumb and forefinger, she pouted as she collapsed in the chair, caressing it lovingly. Her eyes bore into mine, attempting to sway my decision. "No Britt. That thing is not going to be in my house." The overstuffed chair was massive, nearly a love seat, and blindingly white. I had planned on deeper colors - reds or purples, with dark wood accents - and this monstrosity was not at _all _what I had in mind for myself. In another home, it would have been nice enough, but not mine. "Britt, please stop pouting. Can we just go and look at other chairs? Maybe you'll find one you like better - one that I won't want to douse in gasoline and light on fire."

"Fine," she sighed, crawling slowly off of the chair before intertwining her fingers with my own. "But I'm so coming back and buying it for you for your birthday." The mischievous twinkle in her eyes provoked a loud chortle from my throat, and I rolled my eyes, tugging her toward a dining room table I'd had my heart set on.

"Babe, wake up. You're home," I heard as fingertips whispered against my cheekbone, mimicking her voice. I turned to nuzzle her hand, receiving soft chuckles in return.

"I don't want today to end," I said quietly, my mind not filtering any of my words as it struggled against my body to wake up as well.

"I know, Santana. Me either."

Our sentences were conveyed in as few words possible, octaves lower than any normal conversation, gently pressed from one seat in the car to the other, floating on the circulating air. I unbuckled my seat belt, leaning across the console to meet her lips without hesitation. _Words be damned_. I exhaled every ounce of beauty, every laugh, every exasperated sigh, every moment she had made me feel worth something into her mouth. My tongue traced the words I couldn't say over her lips, into her teeth and tongue. My lips held hers as I hoped my arms could one day, strong and sure, but still entranced by the magic that what they were holding was actually theirs, and wanted to be theirs. I gave everything I've ever had, or ever even dreamed to have into that kiss, hoping, prayerfully, that her soft mouth would understand my subliminal messages, and translate those words for her.

Pulling away, utterly breathless, I found one hand tangled in her hair and the other firmly resting on the inside of her upper thigh, her breathing quick and shallow. I met her gaze, locking into cloudy eyes, shades darker than I had ever seen them. My words were caught in my throat, and by the time I'd managed regain vocal capability, she seemed to have lost hers. When the five words left my lips, she seemed to inhale them, before nodding readily.

"Do you wanna come inside?"


	8. Chapter 8

Her brain feels like it's misfired, like it's disconnected from the rest of her body, in particular her mouth, because it's not until Brittany nods that she realizes that those words slipped over her lips, unfiltered, _those five fucking words_. _Do you wanna come inside?_

Her promise to Puck's mother has flown out of the window into the slight breeze fluttering through the front yard as they walk hand in hand up to the porch. Her self-control has grown wings and taken off as well, as most of her clothes do the same once they're locked tight behind her bedroom door. Early afternoon light squeezed through the half-drawn blinds, and the house was empty, eerily quiet, as if trying to capture each sound escaping her mouth into the dry wall and curtains and family photographs lining the hallways.

Her brain remains uncooperative as warm, smooth hands glide up the sides of her waist, curling around to cup her shoulder blades as she's gently pressed against the first open stretch of wall in her bedroom. Her own hands relish in the lack of mental logic, sliding down from their places on Brittany's waist (_when the fuck did that happen?_) until they rested in the small of her back, tugging her more closely. Spearmint folds into citrus as hot breath coats her neck before she is completely overwhelmed by the sounds and scents and glorious tactile motions she's giving in to. An arm slips back down, grasping her waist with gentle insistence, and her whole body sinks into the mattress as she falls further than she should, into the blankets and pillows and the feelings surrounding every aspect of her being. Her chest is threatening to burst open, spilling every word she's been unable or unwilling to vocalize, allowing the butterflies she's held captive the past eleven days to flood the room, coating the air with the flapping of two thousand wings.

Her thoughts struggle to uncloud themselves, but it's as if her heart has slapped her neurons hard across the face before saying "I've got this." Bringing her attention back to the blonde now clambering on top of her, curls brushing against both of their bodies, she presses up, praying for contact, for another moment to hold those lips close, closer than she knows she should. It's as if Brittany's body can hear her own whispering, begging, calling for more - more of what, neither are sure, but simply _more._She feels a hesitant tongue breach her lower lip, and wraps one hand around a slender neck, toying with the baby hairs as her mouth gradually opens, allowing a slow tango to begin just behind her teeth.

Then the whispers into her ears become gruff, the hands too sloppy, and everything is teeth and nails and want, not need. The hand that had been slowly tracing her hipbones slips underneath her shorts and her brain comes roaring back to life, two hands shoving Brittany backwards, and her mouth falls open before tears flood her cheeks.

"I can't."

Brittany stood parallel to the wall for several seconds before gingerly pressing forward, reaching a hesitant hand out to cup Santana's cheek, brushing a thumb there to catch just a few of the seemingly endless tears pouring from her eyes. It's even longer before she speaks, a warm hand rubbing circles into the sobbing girl's spine, much as she'd done nights before.

"I'm sorry."

Santana forces out what seems like a strangled laugh, finally pulled from the cycle of thoughts rushing through her head again and again. "It really isn't your fault Britt," she whispers, the words barely audible over the palpitating tension. "It isn't your fault at all." Pressing her palms against the mattress, she scooted back, pulling her knees to her chest before patting a milky thigh and tugging her further onto the comforter as well. Confusion is clearly seeping out of every pore of the blonde - it's evident in her body language, her flickering pupils, and the eyebrows that meet in the middle of her face, scrunched further together than should be physically possible.

Santana turns, unfurling her legs and facing Brittany head on, a hand on each thigh crossed beneath the girl, soothingly running her thumbs across the expanses of soft, light skin. "I'm sorry," she begins softly, and shakes her head immediately when the lips that were on her neck minutes ago open to speak. "I didn't mean to push you away, especially like that."

"You don't have to explain. It's okay."

Santana shakes her head again, laughing softly before biting her tongue. "It's not, and I do. I'm yours now, and I trust you, more than I've trusted anyone in a long time. You deserve to know." Brittany nods, her eyebrows still furrowed and her lips drawn into a thin line. "I was thirteen," she begins, the first time she's ever rehashed the story since the day she met Megan, the day it happened. She finds herself looking into blue eyes instead of green, but the concern wavering in the corners is identical, and breathes a sense of courage into her words. "It was my third foster home, a married couple who's children had all moved out and gone off to start their own lives, and the wife had always wanted to foster once that happened. I learned fast that the man had a drinking problem that apparently enough social services wasn't aware of, because I was the first child they'd had placed in their care. He'd left me alone for the most part, and would just pass out on the couch each night, with the TV flickering in the background."

She could feel her breath catch in her throat, and struggled to meet Brittany's gaze as a warm hand enveloped her own. The blue eyes boring deep into her were wide, understanding, and encouraged her to continue.

"That afternoon, I was talking to my foster mother, and she asked if I liked any of the boys at school. Her husband was already drinking, and overheard when I said that I didn't like boys. I hadn't realized yet that being gay wasn't something most people were okay with, because I was really young when I told my parents, and they had never treated me any differently." She took in a shaky breath, feeling the fingers entertwined in her own squeezing reassuringly. "I went to bed early that night, but he hadn't passed out like he usually did. That's how I met Megan. She's been there ever since, because I've had other close calls." Her body was shaking violently, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but Brittany wrapped her arms around the girl, pulling her close. "I'm sorry. I just - I've never _been _with anyone but him, and - "

"No, no sweetie. You've never been with anyone. He doesn't count," the blonde whispered, rocking Santana gently. "He doesn't count." She repeated the words on a loop, stroking back the hair that had fallen across this beautiful, broken girl's face, pressing kisses to her forehead and cooing softly.

"I'm sorry," she repeated again.

"You haven't anything to be sorry for honey, nothing at all. Just know that when, or if, the time comes, I won't hurt you. I won't do anything you aren't comfortable with. I'll wait until you are one hundred percent sure. I won't hurt you," she emphasized, those last four words barely whispered, pauses in between each of them. She settled further into the bed, pulling Santana along with her, resting her back on the headboard and wrapping her arms around the shaking girl.

It wasn't long until the petite girl fell fall asleep, lulled by the repetitive cooing noises Brittany had yet to stop and the soft brushes of her fingertips along thin, caramel arms. Upon hearing the front door downstairs open, she gingerly slid out of bed, tucking a blanket around Santana's shoulders. She smiled softly before flicking off the overhead light and turned around to find herself face to face with Puck. His smirk was evident, but he simply wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her outside to his not-so-secret smoking spot.

* * *

"Noah, we've barely spoken. Do you really think I'm going to tell you anything about Santana and me?" Her voice quaked with an unusual amount of anger, and she puffed furiously on the cigarette in between her fingers, thanking every deity she could remember for the foresight to throw her carton in her purse.

"Look Brittany, I get it. I don't know you, you don't know me. But we both know Santana, and despite what you've heard about me, or hell, even what you think about me personally, I care about her. I don't want to see her get hurt."

She wasn't sure if it was the bashful expression, or what seemed like true honesty coloring his words, but she softened immensely at his confession. "Puck, I'm not going to hurt her; too many people already have, probably more than you know. I care about her, a lot."

"So do I."

Her voice softened further. "I know. I can tell." Brittany paused before continuing. "I've really got to get to work though, so please, when she wakes up, tell her that I didn't want to leave, and to text me if she needs me. If she can't fall back asleep, just kind of rock her until she dozes off, if you could." With that, she turned to make her way through the gate and toward her car, before hearing her name called out through the evening air.

"I'll leave the back door unlocked. Just come in when you get off of work. I think she'd rather you there." He sent a hesitant smile her way, and she paused again before nodding, returning the gesture, and slipping out of the gate.


	9. Chapter 9

The bed dipped slightly, gently rousing the slumbering girl tucked warm underneath the sheets. Before she managed to roll over, a warmth pressed itself to her back, wrapping arms around her waist and engulfing her in summer sun and the lightest hints of freshly squeezed orange juice.

Her throat ached with sleep and too many tears, but before she could open her mouth to attempt words, she was shushed quietly. "Back to sleep birthday girl. You need your rest." All Santana could manage were a few unintelligible mumbles in return. "Puck left the door unlocked. Back to sleep." The three words were punctuated with soft kisses, one on her shoulder and a second on her neck, with the third barely grazing her hair line. She nodded sleepily, stifling a yawn before snuggling further into Brittany's body, allowing the soothing citrus to wash over her senses and lull her back into a deep sleep.

Thirty one million, five hundred fifty six thousand, nine hundred and twenty six. Five hundred twenty five thousand and six hundred. Eight thousand seven hundred and sixty five. Three hundred sixty five and a quarter. Fifty two. One.

When you have lost or are lost or want to lose yourself, those numbers fail to hold meaning - they lose their significance. It seems superfluous to celebrate one particular day of your life, when each and every day is just as important - when every day is another twenty four hours, one thousand, four hundred, and forty minutes, eighty six thousand and four hundred seconds of life. Thousands of moments each day to fuck up, to fall in love, to take in deep breaths of air when the windows are rolled down.

Why expect special treatment and food and presents on this one particular day? It's not as if suddenly, you are a year older, and this deserves celebration. Every tick of every clock in every corner of the world ages you, promotes your growth. Why feel the need to applaud yourself on sludging through another year of the shit life threw at you? _Congratulations, you didn't break this year. Let's have another go round, eh? _

Why not take advantage of those ticks and tocks, and celebrate your life with each inherent second that passes? If you want to salute your ability to continue living, why stop at years? Why not praise decades, or centuries, or millennia? Or why not break it down, rather than building it up? Go down to the weeks, days, hours, minutes, and hell, even the seconds. Life is too precious, too beautiful, too sporadic and spontaneous and _fucking lovely_to be ignored, to not be celebrated.

So appreciate the mornings when you wake up to familiar scents on the pillow your messy hair is splayed across. Appreciate the wavering smiles and long goodbyes and the changes you never saw coming. Take note of the smallest moments, the ones that seem insignificant, because those are the ones that add up, that keep building, until they are the most important - until they are all you have left. Appreciate summer breezes and beautiful eyes and perfect cups of coffee. Appreciate all of your firsts, and then your seconds, and if you're lucky, your thirds. Appreciate cool sheets on your bare legs in July and cozy fires in December. Appreciate every moment, because someday, the moment you chose to take for granted may be the last you have.

* * *

Snuggling deep into the pillow next to her, Santana took in a deep breath of the citrus that had rocked her back to sleep the night before, stretching an arm out in search of the warm body that had accompanied it. Her heart sank when her grasping fingers turned up empty, and fluttering her eyes open, she realized it was all a beautiful, hazy dream. Rolling over in the opposite direction in search of her sweatpants, she heard the sheets rustle, and lifting the blankets, found a solitary post-it note.

_Birthday breakfast at the table. :) Come and find me._

Flying down the stairs, hopping off a few steps from the bottom, she stumbled before quickly recovering and continuing her mad dash for the kitchen, nearly plowing over Mrs. Puckerman in her haste. She stood stock still, waiting for an outburst, but was pleasantly scooped into the woman's arms, a kiss pressed to her forehead.

"Happy birthday sweetheart. She's a keeper," she breathed into the long, messy locks of the tiny girl. She turned back toward the kitchen counter with a wink, finishing up the dishes as Santana settled down at the table. Piled high were a stack of chocolate pancakes, the chips arranged into three letters - CVS. Sitting beside the syrup and whipped cream was another note, and the brunette couldn't help but giggle, her nose wrinkling at the words, as she kicked her feet back and forth under the table.

_I'm sure you're bouncing in your seat with excitement ..._

Santana immediately stilled, slightly unnerved by how well the girl knew her.

_But eat all of these before you take off. I have on good authority that Mama P will rat you out otherwise. She's on my side. ;)_

She looked up in the direction of her foster mother, and saw her holding back laughter, eyes crinkled at the corners. She made quick work of her breakfast, encouraging a set of hiccups to throttle through her throat before changing in record time, and heading toward the front door.

"Santana?" She turned back around to meet Mrs. Puckerman's ever gentle gaze. "Take the car." With that, she tossed the keys toward the younger woman, no trace of hesitance in her features, and winked before walking out of the room.

* * *

Considering the sweltering heat and what seemed like the potential for a long game of hide and seek, the girl was more than thankful for the air conditioned Honda she'd been temporarily gifted for the day. She pulled up at the only CVS in all of Lima, _fucking cow town_, and walked in, unsure of what she was looked for exactly. Any confusion was quickly replaced when she spotted post-it note arrows directing her to the corner of the shop, ending with a smiley face at the photography counter.

"Santana Lopez?" A middle aged man with salt and pepper hair greeted her with a shy smile, and she nodded back in much the same manner, hoping this was all a part of the admittedly elaborate plan Brittany had concocted. He handed her three envelopes. Upon opening the first, her eyes met the roll of film she'd taken, and flipping through the prints, she found the photographs of the bridge, the river, and then several frames of the blonde spinning in circles. She couldn't help the smile that covered her features, and she anxiously opened the second envelope before the grin faded and a look of confusion covered her features.

They were all close ups of a location, a place she'd never been before, and she was fairly certain she'd never even _seen _this place. She continued flicking one after another, hoping some epiphany would overtake her, but she was sorely disappointed. The man behind the counter cleared his throat, and gestured to the last envelope, tucked under her arm.

She unfolded this one, a plain white in contrast to the brightly colored ones before, holding the photos. Tucked inside was yet another note, and she rolled her eyes at the complexity of the surprises Brittany had planned.

_Swea__**t**__ pants, __**h**__air ti__**e**__d, chillin' with no make-up on -  
That's when you're the prettie__**s**__t, I __**h**__op__**e**__ that you __**d**__on't take it wrong._

She stared at the note in her hands, flashing back to the day before, and trying to tug her mind into making some semblance of significance from the lyrics the two had been singing in the car. Nothing clicked. She flipped through the photos again, taking in greenery and wooden slats that formed a building of some sort. She found two of the photos had somehow gotten stuck together, and the newly discovered photograph set the gears in her brain whirring.

It was a simple photograph of Brittany standing in the middle of an empty room, taking a photograph in the mirror. She looked back to the note, and internally smacked herself across the face for not realizing that some letters had been emphasized - traced over again and again so they stood out more boldly against the rest.

T-H-E-S-H-E-D

She tore back toward the car, barely taking a moment to wave and call out an appreciative thank you to the employee behind the counter, who stood in the same place, shaking his head and chuckling softly. Jamming the keys into the ignition, she shifted into reverse before her heart dropped, and she grabbed her phone, dialing seven familiar numbers.

"Come and find me," was all she heard before the call ended, and it was all she took not to call Brittany back and use every curse word she knew, both in English and Spanish to berate her. Instead, her head slumped to the steering wheel, and she jumped back when it honked in response. _ I have no idea where she lives. _


	10. Chapter 10

"But it's an _emergency_." The older woman swallowed back laughter at recalling identical words, tinged with the same desperation, not so long ago from the other half of this unlikely pair. "I know it's against policy, but come on Megan. It's a _birthday _emergency." Still amused at the extent to which Brittany understood her counterpart, she willingly gave Santana the address, because despite the older woman's teasing, this had all been a part of the extremely intricate plan laid out for the girl's eighteenth birthday.

Breaking several speed limits, Santana made it across town within ten minutes, pulling up outside of an understated home, the shed barely visible from the driveway. Thinking back once again to their conversation, her hurried steps slowed in a near reverence of the building, and a deep, shuddering breath whispered through her frame as she pulled the door open. Sat in the middle of the otherwise empty room was the Polaroid she'd first held at the antique shop, surrounded by film arranged in the shape of a slightly lopsided heart. She felt a jolt through her fingers as she gingerly picked up the camera, peering through the viewfinder out of habit. Turning back around to the door, not yet pulling her eyes away from the small box that was cocooning her in a warmth she'd missed, her mouth fell agape. The door had been eased back open, revealing a shy blonde accompanied by a smile that outshone the sun resting on her shoulders.

"Do you trust me?" Santana furrowed her brows, nodding as if it were obvious. "Then can you do something for me?" She nodded once more, though this time held significantly less confidence. "All I ask is one dance." The blonde bit her bottom lip before continuing, slowly easing herself toward the girl standing in the middle of her studio. "But the music is instrumental, and I'd like you to sing for me."

"Britt, you know I can't - "

Long arms wrapped around Santana's slender frame, tugging her close. "Yes, you can. I know you can. Can I tell you something?" The girl mumbled something akin to an affirmative into Brittany's chest. "I see you, in ten years, in some loft apartment in a big city. The walls are lined in photographs, gorgeous photographs, that _you _took." The blonde paused, interlacing her fingers with caramel ones, placing her other hand on a slender waist, and slowly begin to send them into a gentle, rocking circle. "You'll be cooking dinner, waiting on your wife to come home, and this tiny little girl will run up to you and tug on your jeans, asking what song you're humming under your breath as you stir." She took this moment to pause again, her dance partner moving fluidly underneath her arm as she spun the smaller girl. Pulling back to meet dark chocolate eyes, she pressed just a bit further. "Are you going to feel too guilty to sing to that little girl Santana - too guilty to sing to your daughter? Are you going to deny her everything your mom gave you when you two would sing together?"

Soft lips overpowered any other words she might have had planned, swallowing her thoughts easily. Through the graceful motion of tongues and the saltiness of tears and the vice grip Santana had on their still clasped hands, she felt her head shaking furiously from side to side.

"Then sing for me." Brittany walked across the barren studio, and harps filled the room, accompanied by the sounds of rain, despite the bright light filtered in through the cracks around the door. She folded Santana easily back into her arms, waiting for the drums to provoke the lyrics she was sure the girl would know. She hummed along with the first verse as the huskiness of Santana's voice flooded her senses; her eyes were resting closed, and the simple sounds around her sent shivers down her spine.

_I know your image of me is what I hope to be  
I've treated you unkindly, but can't you see?  
There's no one more important to me  
So darlin', won't you please see through me?  
Cause we're alone now and I'm singing this song for you_

She could feel the vibrations of the words through her chest as they spun slowly in circles, content to be near one another with no pretenses. She twirled Santana once more, and caught a chance glimpse at a shy smile before returning the gesture without reluctance.

_You taught me precious secrets of the truth withholding nothing  
You came out in front, well baby I was hiding  
But now I'm so much better with my words coming together  
Listen to the melody cause my love is in there hiding  
_  
She felt Santana's breath hitch before she heard it, and automatically tightened her grip on the girl's waist, pulling her closer in. It was a shot in the dark that the song would provoke anything, and clearly, the fluttering in her stomach was a trait her girlfriend shared - the nights sat up wondering _do I_, the lingering glances neither could control, the fear wracking their limbs at the idea that they were falling too fast.

_I love you in a place where there's no space or time  
We were alone and I was singing this song for you_

They circled a few more times as the words faded into drums and guitars, and Brittany couldn't mask the giggle that erupted from her throat when she dipped her dance partner, a look of panic momentarily crossing over Santana's face, until she whispered _trust me_. It wasn't a question. It held a gentle pleading quality, combined with strains of reassurance. Mocha eyes fluttered closed, and the body held in milky hands softened, willingly allowing itself to be melded by those hands, held up with no pretense of distrust. Santana felt her body swoop back upwards, cutting through the air with incomparable grace before lips pressed to her temple and the two girls began shifting in a circle that never seemed as though it would end.

* * *

Hundreds of years of poetry have tried to capture the meaning of life, of love, of human condition. They have tried to spill into words the transitory nature of these things, intrinsically aware of the precariousness, folding the words over themselves again and again to inspire confidence in their readers. These poets have attempted to pin down metaphors and similes about life and love, making these abstract concepts into tangible ideas - blooming flowers, puppeteers, or ticking clocks.

But try as we may to understand the inner workings of our world, we must accept that we have little control over much else than our actions, and subsequently, our reactions. It is what it is, and what will be will be. Sometimes, we are meant to wait years to love without reserve. Sometimes, it can take our entire lives to find the person we were meant to share those years with. And sometimes, we lose things so that we can be brought to other things. We lose one love to discover another, greater, more passionate than the first. We get lost in the shuffle, forgetting who we are completely, before someone comes along to remind us of who we were and who we are, before inspiring the who we could be. And every once in a while, we lose people, entire people, in the universe's effort to lead us to the other souls we are meant to find. Without pain, there can be no happiness. Without change, no growth. And without loss, there is no discovery.

* * *

With stomachs full to bursting, three women lay snuggled up on the couch, the television flickering in front of them. Santana was curled into the blonde's side, eyelids fighting a losing battle against sleep as she held Ms. Puckerman's hand in her lap, the woman's thumb softly stroking the space just above her wrist. The trio burst into giggles as Puck made his way into the living room, a single cupcake placed on a tiny plate, one candle flickering in the dark as he sang Happy Birthday in a deep, gravelly tone.

"Make your wish count," he finally said, the song over. "And remember, it doesn't come true if you don't blow out _all _the candles."

* * *

Wishes are a funny thing. They are the threads of hope we cling to, almost knowing we cannot have the things we most desire. There are candles and shooting stars and fountains filled with coins, each emblazoned with the deepest, most desperate prayers of our hearts. We hold fast to these wishes, for seconds, or years, or an entire lifetime. They're made easier to believe in by physical representations of the possibility of them coming true, but it's no less heartbreaking if the one thing you wish most for never comes to fruition.

* * *

"You fucker!" Santana exclaimed, unable to hold back the chuckle in her throat. "It's a trick candle. That's bullshit. I want a redo." Brittany's eyes flickered to Ms. Puckerman, who surprisingly enough was glaring at her son for his cheek, rather than her foster daughter for her language. He dove into his back pocket, pulling out a second candle, and lighting it off of the first, allowing Santana another breath, full of unencumbered dreams, to blow it out easily. "If my wish doesn't come true, I'm hunting you down and going seven kinds of Lima Heights on you Puckerman. You don't mess with wishes."

"If it doesn't come true, I give you full permission to beat him up," the oldest woman on the couch said, a yawn lacing her words. She stretched before getting up, heading in the direction of her bedroom. "You three don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone."

Folding off of the couch themselves, Brittany wiggled her fingers in between her girlfriend's, tugging her toward the garage, to have her first "big kid cigarette." However, that plan flew out the window as soon as they reached the side yard, when Santana pressed the blonde against the bricks of the house.

"Thank you for the best birthday I have had, quite possibly ever," she breathed, their mouths not even inches away from one another. "You are absolutely amazing Britt. I don't know how I got so lucky." The blonde planned on fighting back, implying that _she _was the lucky one, but the warm hand snaking around her waist sent shivers down her spine, causing her brain to short circuit and the lips moving steadily against her own swallowed any words she had prepared.

When her mind finally cleared slightly, she pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Santana's mouth before whispering words she couldn't color with more truth. "You deserve the world, and I want to give it to you. I'd do absolutely anything to see you happy." She saw the chocolate eyes wobble, before fluttering shut to keep the tears at bay. The two girls pressed together again, bodies molded into one another, the warmth between them rivaling the July heat as their tongues danced. Santana's free hand moved from a freckled cheek, framing a long neck, brushing against the jutted collarbones, finally landing, and resting, above Brittany's heart. The blonde tugged her more closely, hoping to convey with closeness and comfort and sheer desire the words she couldn't bring herself to say just yet.

"Damn." The solitary syllable was accompanied by a low whistle and the clinking of bottles, and they both turned to see Puck holding three beers and a smirk across his face. "Don't stop on my account."

Santana pressed one last kiss onto the slightly swollen lips in front of her before punching the guy in the arm, stealing a beer from between his fingers, and muttering, "Cockblock." She pulled a cigarette out of her shirt pocket, lighting it readily, appreciating the smooth, cool smoke that floated through her chest. She sank to the ground, opening the beer in her hand and pulling a long sip from the bottle. "Thanks, by the way." She was met with soft hazel eyes, and lightly confused aqua ones. She met Brittany's gaze rather than Puck's, figuring he'd be embarrassed enough to have someone else at school know he's not such a badass. "He bought me a leather bound photo album, for all of my prints." She heard a sigh of relief from her left when he realized she'd left out an important portion of the gift. Tucked under the cover was a photo of her and Ms. Puckerman, laughing at the stove while they prepared dinner. It wasn't a particularly miraculous moment, and there was no real significance to the photo, until Puck had written on the back, "_So you never forget that you'll always have a home to come back to. Love you sis, happy birthday_."

She caught a look of respect for the boy in Brittany's eyes, and he shoved Santana in return, laughing gently before pulling his beer back to his lips. "Don't think this means I'm not still a badass."

Stifling a yawn, she leaned over and slapped his calf. "You were never a badass in the first place, ya big softie." Resting her head against the brick wall, her cigarette forgotten in her fingers, she fell in and out of sleep, the voices around her nuzzling her gently into dreamland. Leaning her head against Brittany's shoulder, she whispered "Best. birthday. ever," before slipping fully into sleep.

* * *

**AN: I apologize for the delay in the uploading of this chapter. My grandmother passed away last Thursday, and to say the past week has been rough would be an understatement. I'll try and be better about updating, but I can't make any promises right now. Again, I apologize for the delay, and I hope you enjoyed this.**

Review or PM me if you have any questions, concerns, or suggestions. Thank y'all for reading. :) The next chapter should be funnn. ;)


	11. Chapter 11

There are hundreds, if not thousands, or hundreds of thousands of words that are hard to define. The feelings associated with these words, the connotation they hold – it's all subjective. Home is one of these words. It means something different to any person you ask. It may be a place, or a feeling, or a person. It may be a memory, or a time period, or an object.

Love is much the same way. You cannot put stipulations on the feeling, and every individual will interpret the word, be it verb or noun, in a different way. Love is intangible, abstract, and entirely undefinable, but that doesn't make it any less real, or for that matter, any less convoluted. Love can wash over you and sooth any worries or fears you have, while simultaneously causing your body to shake, quake, and pound. It's a single syllable, and easy to say, though often times it gets caught in your throat or directly behind your lips, with no hope to escape. It's an adrenaline rush and a hot cup of coffee on a cold winter's day. It's cool sheets and warm bodies, night skies and the sunrise over the horizon every morning. It's laughter and tears and occasionally raised voices. It's stolen glances and fluttering eyelids and soft mouths and wandering hands. It's nothing, and anything, and quite possibly everything. It's easy to feel, hard to define, and even more difficult to admit.

* * *

"That's the last of the boxes sweetheart." In addition to the cardboard boxes of furniture she'd have to assemble, there were even more boxes of pots, pans, and utensils littering her kitchen, a small box of picture frames and other knick knacks, and enough cleaning supplies, toiletries, and food to keep the entire American Army squeaky clean and fully fed for months.

"Mama Puck, you really didn't have to do all of this." It was more difficult than she'd originally anticipated to graciously accept the woman's help after relying on herself and no one else for years. The soft look in her foster mother's eyes was the only thing that had consistently kept her from protesting.

"I just want you to be taken care of," she whispered, unfamiliar tears clouding her vision before she pulled the girl in for a crushing hug. Stepping back and wiping away the stragglers from her cheeks, she turned to face both Santana and Brittany, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I'll leave you girls to it then. Call if you need anything, anything at all." She slowly made her way toward the front door of the apartment, clearly struggling with the idea of walking out of the space. She whipped around once more, pulling Santana into her chest again for a much longer embrace before replacing her hand on the doorknob hesitantly. "I'll call you Sunday night to let you know when you have to come into the office. You did put in your two weeks at the Lima Bean, right honey?"

The girl nodded in response, unable to hide her excitement over another new chapter opening in her life. She'd done so immediately after leaving Rebecca's office, and thankfully, after the years she'd been there, her manager was more than accommodating. "They actually gave me the weekend off, to settle in. So I'm done with the Lima Bean. I just have to go shopping for some more," she cleared her throat and attempted to fight the blush on her cheeks, "_appropriate_ clothes for the office." Ms. Puckerman brought her gaze to the girl's attire, starting with the beat up Nikes, taking in the cut off shorts, and landing on her well-worn hoodie, and nodded in response, laughing lightly. She pressed a final kiss to Santana's forehead before waving, and walking out of the front door without chancing a glance back.

Shutting the door quietly behind her, the petite girl let out a long sigh before beginning to make her way back to the kitchen, where her girlfriend was steadily unpacking the multitude of kitchen supplies Ms. Puckerman had picked up for her. She was realizing that this was it. No more foster homes, potential adoptions, or shelters – she was on her own, for good. The only thing brightening the overwhelming loneliness that was currently residing in her chest was the sight of a gangly blonde dancing around the kitchen counters, wiggling to a beat only she could hear. She leaned up against the door frame, allowing herself a moment to enjoy the sight of long limbs moving gracefully across the tile, the ponytail on top of Brittany's head bobbing along with her motions.

"Hey," she barely breathed, not wanting to startle her.

Blue eyes crinkled at the corners as the blonde met her gaze. "Hey yourself."

"Can you come with me? There's something I want to show you." Brittany simply nodded in response, crossing the kitchen to take hold of the hand extended to her. Across the apartment was a sizeable bedroom that she hadn't been allowed to enter just yet, for whatever reason. She'd determined it would be better not to push Santana on the matter for the moment, but couldn't quell her excitement, bouncing lightly as they crossed the living room and pressed up the stairs.

Once the door was opened, Brittany saw nothing extraordinary. The floor was covered in boxes, as was the rest of the apartment, but as she scanned the room, her mouth fell open before she turned to her girlfriend in disbelief. The smaller girl squeezed her hand gently before letting go, nudging her forward with a hand on her back. On the wall furthest from them were two French doors, leading onto a small balcony, with a view of a good portion of the city. Just inside those doors was a chair, the only thing assembled in the entire apartment – a plain white chair that wouldn't have held any significance were it not for the fact that -

"You hated that chair," she whispered. She turned back toward her girlfriend, who was grinning cheekily in return. "You said you wanted to light it on fire." Her fingers caressed the fabric in near reverence, still unable to pull her eyes away from the twinkling mocha ones eyeing her readily.

Santana shrugged in indifference, navigating her way around the numerous boxes that littered the floor before pulling Brittany into her arms. "If it matters to you, it matters to me."

"Anything?" she questioned, taking hold of Santana's hands before flopping into the chair. The anything was in reality one thing, one thing that had been on her mind since the day they'd first been to the river.

"Anything Britt."

"Can you go get your camera then?"

* * *

Santana filtered through boxes in the living room, knowing damn good and well that she should have taken Ms. Puckerman's advice on labeling each one, because finding what she was looking for would have been made infinitely easier if the boxes had _Shit I'll Never Use_, _Clothes That Aren't Respectable Looking_, and _Things My Beautiful Girlfriend is Likely to Request_ written on the sides. After what felt like the fiftieth box she'd rummaged through, her fingers found the soft strap of her camera, pulling it up from the clothing she'd nestled it in. Checking the exposure counter, she saw that she'd placed a new roll of film in, and made her way back up the stairs toward Brittany, still confused as to the intricate plan she was sure had been cooked up in her absence.

Stepping back into the bedroom, she noticed the chair had been turned around to face the sunset bleeding in through the windows in the door. It was hazy, and coated the room in comfortable warmth. "You can see our river from here."

_Our river_, Santana noted. "That's why I chose this apartment. Even if you aren't here, seeing that – seeing our river – made me feel like I could still be close to you." She hadn't moved from her place in the doorway just yet, holding her eyes closed as she let the first time she'd seen the river up close wash over her, combined with the tugging in her heart when she'd seen the river from that balcony.

"Come here," she heard, just barely over a whisper. She made her way over the boxes and leaned against the back of the chair, taking in the gentle rays of the falling sun while brushing her fingers through the top of Brittany's hair. "Do you have your camera?" Santana murmured an affirmative response, flinching slightly as fingers tugged at her own, bringing her out of her reveries and around the side of the chair to face Brittany, the sunset now to her back. Taking in the image before her, she barely breathed out the blonde's name. Four words were spoken, from the body tucked into the oversized armchair, mimicking the words they'd read at the river. "The fine art nude."

"Britt – " she repeated, a little more audibly.

"You said anything. It matters to me." She could still sense the hesitation in the dark chocolate eyes she was boring into. "I want to do this, and I trust you. I trust that no matter what happens between us, this will stay between us." She watched as the gears shifted in behind tanned eyelids, and she waited patiently, the sun warming her bare body. Camera shaking in her hand, Santana finally nodded before shuffling around to find a suitable place to begin.

Through the lens, she was afforded an incomparable beauty. The light from the windows danced across Brittany's bare form, highlighting her cheekbone, and throwing half of her face into shadow. She was able to capture the flecks of gold in her eyes, the freckles sprinkled across her nose, and the nearly blinding halo of hair that fell gently around her face. The camera roamed, raking over slightly jutted collarbones, full breasts, and a taut abdomen, tiny moles sprinkled just below her ribs. She was draped lazily across the chair, her face peaceful and her body language not at all uncomfortable, despite the incessant whirr of the camera's shutter. More than halfway through the roll, she continued mapping out every piece of the topography that, combined, encompassed Brittany. She traced the hipbones just above her pelvis, reminding herself to breathe as she continued on, and then past, the light patch hair between two muscular thighs. She captured the strong calves, delicate ankles, and finally, calloused feet, rough from years of barefoot studio choreography. She had one frame left on the roll, and felt as though she were waiting for something to finish the series, to thrust it from simple beauty to unadulterated perfection, so she dropped the camera to the floor, and caught Brittany's gaze without anything between them.

She didn't want to break the hazy spell that had fallen over them, but the space between the two felt too great after the intimacy the lens had created, perhaps even provoked. She sidled over, into the chair, perching on the end. Her eyes radiated tenderness, and once the camera had fallen away, her line of vision had not fallen past the collarbones her fingers were now tracing. She placed a soft kiss to the apple of Brittany's cheek, before burying her face into the smoothness of her neck. "You are so incredibly beautiful."

The girl hummed in response before nuzzling into Santana's cheek, stealing a quick kiss when the girl's lips were in reach. "As much as I'd like to stay like this for the rest of the night, Puck should be here soon to help put together the bed. You need somewhere to sleep honey."

"You – you aren't staying tonight?" She mentally kicked herself for sounding so desperate, but she wasn't entirely sure she would be able to make it through this first night on her own.

"Well I wasn't going to assume that I was," Brittany replied softly. "I hoped you'd want me to though, and if you do, I'm more than happy to stay." She placed another kiss to the lips that had been previously pulled into a pout before laughing quietly. "I need to get dressed though. I don't figure you'd like Puck seeing me like this." A loud knock echoed through the apartment, and she winked. "See? Let me put some clothes on, and I'll meet you downstairs in a minute."

* * *

A few hours, entirely too many _fit piece PF into slot 136's_, and a massive amount of takeout boxes later, the unlikely trio was fixated on the newly assembled couch in Santana's living room, watching a movie on the television Puck had successfully mounted to the wall. The ten dollars she'd bet him that he couldn't do it was more than worth it as Santana leaned into his side, Brittany's head in her lap. As the credits rolled, Puck stifled a yawn before nodding to the girls who weren't far from sleep themselves that he was leaving.

"C'mon Britt. It's time to get up!" she singsonged, tugging the blonde's hands and giggling as all she received in return were muffled grunts and a head shaking back and forth furiously. Finally pulling the girl successfully to her feet, she managed to nearly drag her upstairs, where Brittany collapsed on the bed immediately. Santana pulled out two sets of pajamas she found in a box on the wall, tossing shorts and t-shirt in the other girl's direction, which ended in a no less sleepy blonde with an oversized t-shirt hanging off of her face.

"I'm too tired to change." Huffing slightly, Santana slipped on her t-shirt before crossing the room to the bed, unbuttoning the blonde's shorts before slowly pulling them off her legs, trying not to disturb her, as it seemed she'd fallen asleep. A twitch in her thighs told her otherwise. Gingerly sitting Brittany up, she slipped off her t-shirt and reached to grab the other one before a hand caught her wrist with surprising speed. "No bra."

"Britt – "

"You act like you haven't seen me naked," she smirked through heavy eyelids, still fighting sleep. Santana grumbled again, reaching behind the girl to unclasp her bra, averting her eyes to the blue ones inches from her own.

"Britt – " she began again, the last half of the word swallowed by soft lips covering her own. Her hands acted of their own accord, one slipping around a slender neck, the other resting on Brittany's lower back. It wasn't until her own back hit the mattress that she realized the blonde had been rotating them while their tongues danced haphazardly. She felt warm hands slip under her t-shirt, fanned out and settled on her rib cage, and against her lips, barely audible words were spoken. When she didn't respond, she heard Brittany repeat herself.

"Is this okay?" Santana nodded, eyes shut tight, but it wasn't nearly as convincing as she thought it was. "Look at me." Chocolate locked on sapphire, and the blonde held her gaze for a moment before speaking again. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to do anything you are uncomfortable with." The petite girl, seemingly smaller in this moment, nodded once more, tears pooling in the outer corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over. "I love you, Santana. I wouldn't do anything to hurt you."

The tears poured down her cheeks as she pulled herself upward, crashing their lips together, hoping that her mouth could spill forth everything she was feeling in that moment without having to actually make words. They broke apart momentarily, their bodies pressing back together as soon as Santana's chest was bare as well. She found, as things got more heated, that the melodic tone of Brittany's repeated I love you's was enough to keep her mind from wandering. Any tug she felt in her mind, threatening to send her into flashbacks, was combatted with a flash of blonde hair, milky smooth skin, or piercing eyes. The hands trailing toward her thighs were soft, not coarse or unforgiving. The lips on her neck were sucking gently on her pulse point, not tearing or gnashing, and certainly not accompanied by stubble. This is what was meant to happen. Brittany was right in saying that he didn't count; she now knew too that she'd never really been with anyone. She could feel her legs shaking, the heat continuing to pool as the blonde's fingers worked between them. There was nothing unkind or lustful or demanding in her motions.

"Britt – " she breathed out. "Britt, look at me, please." Hazy eyes focused once more into Santana's, holding her gaze readily without ceasing her actions. The words were thick and heavy on her tongue, pressing against her chest and making it difficult to breathe. She knew they were there, and they were taunting her with what ifs, but she knew more than that, that they needed to be said. "I love you too." It was that one last thrust that sent her toppling over, her back arching against Brittany's body, fighting to maintain contact between their lips. As she fell back to the bed, her breath evening out, she saw nothing but pure adoration beaming down on her. Slipping under the sheets, wrapped tightly in her girlfriend's arms, Santana fell asleep with a gentle smile gracing her features and beautiful blonde nestled into her back.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: I apologize for the delay in this update. I had planned on finishing it up this weekend, but life had other plans for me.  
Just a little bit of angst towards the end, to keep things interesting. ;)  
Please don't hesitate to review or PM me with suggestions, criticism, or hell, even praise. Haha. If there's something you'd like to see more or less of, send that my way too. I'm open to everything you all say, and I appreciate every review, alert, and reader. :)**

* * *

Despite not being a morning person, a wide smile broke across Santana's features as her eyes fluttered open the following morning. Somehow, in the middle of the night, she and Brittany had switched positions, and the blonde was now cradled in her arms, sleeping sweetly. The dull, early sunshine still managed to burst through the half-closed blinds, leaving lines of light across Brittany's spine, and Santana swiftly swung her legs over the side of the bed to grab her camera. Twisting the aperture and focusing easily, she framed the blonde in all of her glory before clicking the shutter. The dark purple sheets were pooled around her waist, exposing her bare back while a waterfall of waves cascaded over her shoulder blades. She discarded her camera and made her way downstairs to run a pot of coffee, too content to fall back asleep. She trudged back upstairs minutes later, the liquid in her mug warming her fingers as she collapsed into the chair at the far side of the room. Leaning over the arm of the oversized piece of furniture, she fumbled in her bag for a second before retrieving her book, flipping back open to the last page she'd dog earred. She allowed herself to fall into the words, each letter caressing her skin and tugging at her heart, so when the book was taken from her hands and tossed to the side, she automatically turned to glare at the intruder. Her eyes softened as they fell upon a still sleepy blonde, rubbing her eyes adorably. She held her arms out, wiggling her fingers at Santana, before grabbing hold of her hands fully and urging her back to bed. Brittany managed to convince the girl to follow her, and soon both were happily snuggled back under the sheets, slender fingers tracing patterns and words into a caramel back.

"I love you too," Santana murmured sleepily, responding to the latest sentence written on her spine. "I wish I could spend all day, right here."

"I think Naked Saturdays would be a good tradition. Or Sundays maybe. Sundays are much more lazy."

"Naked Sundays it is then, Britt, because I don't think people would appreciate me walking around the mall in my birthday suit today, even if it is my birthday weekend," she giggled. Moments later though, her grin twisted, her eyebrows furrowing together. "I don't want to have to buy _appropriate _clothes. I feel like such a grown up."

"I'll still love you even when you're all disgusting and mature, don't worry." The mischievous sparkle in the blue eyes staring down at her provoked another giggle from Santana's throat before she nodded.

"Good."

* * *

It's hard to pin down the moment you've become an adult. There are legal boundaries - when you can drive or drink or sign a contract on your own - and there are traditions in cultures - a quincinera or a bar mitzvah - but it's impossible to determine the precise second you've "grown up." Is it when you buy your first house or get married? Is it when you've received your diploma, or your first degree? Is it when you can walk into a bar and buy your own beer? Is it when you've had your first child? There is no widely accepted life period when you have become an adult, because really, what does that entail?

Are you an adult when you choose responsibility over fun? When you put others before yourself? When you receive your first pay check? Or when you begin paying your own bills? Is it when you choose a glass of wine over a shot of Jager? When you move out of your childhood home? When you've lost everything, and are decidedly on your own?

It has been and always will be different for every individual who has ever existed or ever will exist in the universe. Perhaps it is when you finally feel as though you are an adult that you are one. Maybe you must make the conscious decision to accept your title, and continue on in your life. Or, maybe, just maybe, we are all eternally children, playing dress up in high heels and suits, pretending we know what we're doing. That seems much more likely.

* * *

"God, your ass looks amazing."

"Irrelevant."

"Totally relevant. I appreciate a good looking ass, and your ass right now? Definitely looking good."

"I very seriously doubt that the dentists are going to care if my ass looks great Britt."

"I care. So when you come home from being a hot working woman in your pencil skirt and heels, I can appreciate your ass while I make dinner. Ass Appreciation Tuesdays. We should start that tradition too." Her smirk wasn't in the least bit subtle, but there was something else in her eyes that Santana didn't quite recognize, something that she couldn't put my finger on. _Whatever in the hell it was_, it sent a tingle down her spine and forced, though she certainly wasn't fighting it, a shy smile to make its way across her face.

The heels she was wearing had them at the same height, so when Santana stepped forward, their lips were perfectly level. She planted a soft kiss on the corner of the blonde's mouth before turning away coyly to change back into her shorts and t-shirt. "That all sounds great B."

And it did. It had been years since Santana'd had a proper home, somewhere that felt welcoming when she walked in the front door, somewhere that she could call my own. She'd had a taste of that living with the Puckermans, but now, in an apartment that often felt empty, it was an intoxicating thought to believe that when she got off of work, someone would be there, anticipating her return and excited to see her.

Santana felt strong arms wrap around her before she'd managed to pull her things back on, and she whispered Brittany's name with an edge of warning, and a distinct tone of attraction. The latter won though, and before she knew it, Santana was pressed against the dressing room mirror, with warm hands trailing up her thighs. There was no hope in containing the moan that passed over her lips, and the next sound she heard could have been either a sigh or a gasp from Brittany when she canted her hips to meet her girlfriend's.

"Not again," accompanied by a knock on the door confirmed that it was neither. It was exasperation personified by one of the employees, and as the girls quickly parted, Santana yanked on her clothing before opening the door to the room. "It's against protocol for employees to let guys into the girl's dressing rooms," she heard barked in the opposite direction, toward a cowering trainee. When the female in question turned back around, Santana's chocolate eyes locked on hazel. "Oh shit."

The two girls in the dressing room both flushed scarlet, before Santana spoke up. "Um, hey Quinn. What's up?"

The blonde threw a questioning look at Brittany, arching one eyebrow, before turning to back to face the girl who'd spoken. "I don't know what's going on in here, and frankly, I don't want to know. Hands to ourselves everyone, how's that sound? I'd appreciate if you could go and pay for your things and leave, and we can all put this behind us." With that, she shut the door to the dressing room, and as Santana gathered her items, she heard the quiet chuckles from behind her.

"Not funny Britt."

"I think it's hilarious."

"No Naked Sunday for you then," she smirked as she walked out of the room, leaving a second flustered blonde in her wake that day.

It took several moments for Brittany to recover, and when she did, her girlfriend was nearly finished checking out. "_That _isn't funny Santana," she called as she ran after her girlfriend. "Not funny at all." By the time she'd managed to catch the smaller girl, they were in the middle of the food court, though that certainly didn't stop her from scooping Santana in her arms and swinging her in circles until she promised that Naked Sundays were back on.

"Fine, fine, fine! I promise we can reinstate the Sunday tradition! Just put me down!" she giggled, thrashing slightly in her girlfriend's arms. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she turned in Brittany's arms to press a chaste kiss to her lips, though a two word sentence snapped her quickly out of her daze, her head turning toward the speaker. "Excuse me, what was that?" She feigned ignorance, hoping her tone would be enough to discourage any further attacks.

"You heard me, you fucking dyke."

Brittany had her tightly wrapped up, but she was seething, and no amount of strength would hold her back. She pulled herself out of the blonde's embrace, meeting the offending character head on. "Brian."

"Santana," he said lowly, returning the nod she'd given him.

"How's your father doing? You still get weekend visits, is that right?" Her teeth were bared, and her eyes flashed with a darkness Brittany had never seen. Her stature held nothing but unadulterated rage, and it was impressive how well she was controlling that.

"He actually goes up for parole next month. Time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it 'Tana?" His words were laced with the evident sneer on his face, and it took all of her self-control not to smack the look off of his features. "He was just trying to help, and look what you did - landing him five years in prison. Doesn't seem fair for someone like you to be walking around free when my father's behind bars, does it?" His rhetorical questions were digging into her skin, and Brittany could see her visibly shaking. "Obviously, he'll have to find you for round two when he's out, because the first time didn't do a damn bit of good."

In an instant, Santana's hands flew toward him, focused on nothing more than inflicting any fragment of the pain she'd been through, but her girlfriend managed to pull her away moments before she made contact. "He's not worth it love," she whispered into her ear, tugging her away gently to the entrance of the mall so they could in the car and leave the entire situation behind them, as best they could.

* * *

Curled up on the couch with two mugs of hot cocoa, the girls absentmindedly watched a movie, the silence from the afternoon yet to be broken. Brittany let out a resounding sigh before finally regarding the giant elephant in the room, as much as she knew they'd both rather have it left alone. "Who was that, Santana?"

Her girlfriend took in a shuddering breath before responding, her eyes fixated on the cup in her hands. "His name is Brian Adams."

"And he is? Aside from an adult with no social graces that is."

"The foster home I told you about - when I was 13? Those were Brian's parents. He didn't even know they were fostering anyone until he found out about his father going to prison. Brian and his father were involved in a lot of groups that were combatting gay marriage and equal rights and all of that, and he thinks what his father did was entirely justifiable."

"That's insane though! I mean you were - "

"I know, Britt. I know." Santana willingly fell into her girlfriend's arms, snuggling closely into her side and letting her steady breathing sooth the flurry of emotions coursing through her body.

"Are you afraid of what will happen when he gets out?"

"Terrified."


	13. Chapter 13

"Yes, I do understand that eventually I will have to come home." She paused, taking in the words as she cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder. "Yes, I'm sure my bed _does _miss me. I've just been helping Santana get settled at her apartment. I - " She left out a sigh, her back slumping as she leaned against the doorway to the kitchen where Santana was brewing them both a cup of coffee. "Okay, I'll ask." She paused again. "Yes, I really will ask Mom. I love you too. I'll text you later. Bye."

Caramel hands extended an identical colored cup of coffee and a thin menthol cigarette, motioning back upstairs for the two of them to sit on the balcony. It wasn't like Santana to press, but as she watched the lines on her girlfriend's forehead deepen, rather than disappear, she felt as though the situation might need to be addressed.

"Britt?" The blonde hummed her acknowledgment before blowing out a steady stream of smoke. "Can I ask what your mom wanted?" She mumbled something under her breath, purposefully stringing her words together to make them incomprehensible. "What was that B?"

"She wants you to come over for dinner. Like, tonight." Her eyebrows furrowed once more, and she shook her head side to side slowly, as if trying to regain some sense of emotional equilibrium.

"Do - " The falter in Santana's voice did not go unnoticed, and Brittany's eyes met hers readily. "Do you not want me to meet your mom?"

The blonde jumped, her coffee sloshing for a second before settling back into her mug as she turned to face her girlfriend who, having finished her cigarette, had her thumbnail wedged desperately between her front teeth. "Of course I do!" She placed her cup on the ground and moved to kneel in front of Santana, pulling her fingers out of the captive hold her mouth had on them and cupping her cheek. "I do," she said an octave lower. "I'm just worried," she finally admitted, sitting back on her calves and biting her bottom lip. "She's never met anyone I dated before."

"Well, if you decide you want to do this, I'll be on my very best behavior. Scout's honor," she giggled, holding up her three middle fingers on one hand.

Brittany pressed back upwards, her stomach resting against her girlfriend's knees, delicately tracing patterns on her bare thigh. "I'm not entirely sure I want you on your best behavior right now," she whispered with a wink, her tone far huskier than it normally would be.

Santana stood up quickly, walking back inside without so much as a word. She turned back to see furrowed brows framing bright eyes until she gripped the hem of her tank top, pulling it over her shoulders and head in one smooth motion. "Naked Sundays, right?" She giggled as Brittany flew inside in response, pulling them both onto the bed and tangling the sheets for the rest of the morning.

* * *

The walls were a warm yellow, as fitting as the slate grey in Santana's own apartment. The entire house was filled with knick-knacks - vases and photo frames and figurines - complimenting the overstuffed furniture and knotted wood accents. It was a home that easily made someone feel welcome, regardless of how many times you had been there, because it was just that - a _home._Standing in front of a stove, humming merrily and wiggling around slightly was a woman, no older than forty, who was the epitome of what Brittany was sure to look, sound, and act very much like in twenty years. The sight warmed Santana's heart considerably and calmed the ravaging nerves shaking her thin frame. She felt a soft hand envelope her own as they made their way further into the kitchen.

"Mom?" Brittany's voice was quiet, but sure as she spoke again. "This is Santana, my girlfriend."

The girl attached to her hand flinched subconsciously, waiting for what she was sure was to be a verbal smack down for having converted the woman's daughter to the evils of lesbianism. Wiping her hands on the towel tucked into her apron, the slender blonde made her way across the kitchen and wrapped Brittany into a tight hug before turning to face Santana, sizing her up.

"Hm," she murmured, considering the petite girl in front of her. "She's cute Britt. You did good baby." She turned back to her daughter, pressing a kiss to her temple before turning back toward the stove.

Mocha eyes widened in confusion, desperately trying to catch her girlfriend's attention. "Um, Mom? We're going to go put our things in my room."

"Okay, but don't do anything I wouldn't do." She paused, pursing her lips to the side. "Actually, don't do anything I _would _do."

Santana's eyes grew larger, if that were at all possible, given her already shell shocked expression, and her line of sight darted between each of the two women, finally deciding to tug Brittany out of the room. "It was nice meeting you Ms. Pierce."

"Oh please, call me Holly. Ms. Pierce makes me sound old, hot cheeks." The elder blonde winked and laughed, before turning a third time back to the stove, finally focusing on the dinner nearly bubbling over in front of her.

* * *

Brittany pulled her car into the spot reserved for her girlfriend's apartment, cutting the engine on the charcoal car. They sat quietly for a few moments, before the girl in the passenger seat spoke up. "Your mom is - "

"Insane, I know. I'm sorry."

"I wasn't going to use that word exactly. Interesting, sure. Intriguing, definitely. Like an older you with zero mouth filter, absolutely," she giggled.

"She's embarrassing Santana."

"I don't think - "

"She tried to give you advice about buying strap ons online." Santana was realizing that being cut off was something that was going to happen pretty regularly as they finished this conversation, and nodded in response.

"Well there was that. How does she even - "

"She went to an all-girl's college. And had an Ani DiFranco phase. I don't ask questions." Her cheeks were flushed red, and if she weren't so flustered by the conversations of the night, Santana would be tempted to tease her embarrassment.

She thought of several things to say, but none felt quite right until she whispered, just barely audible, "I'm glad I got to meet her."

Brittany turned to face her over the console, her eyebrows slightly furrowed and her mouth just barely open. "Really?"

Santana nodded before continuing. "You two are a lot alike. How could you think I wouldn't like her? When we walked in, she looked exactly like you did the day we were unpacking things in my apartment - wiggling around to music only you could hear. She's wonderful Britt."

The blonde leaned further across the console, capturing her girlfriend's lips in a chaste kiss. "I'm glad you like her. I don't know what I would do if the two most important people in my life didn't get along." The words were innocent enough, but left a burning red flush across Santana's face. "You'd better head up. You've got a big day tomorrow." She pressed another kiss to the plump lips in front of her, this one lingering slightly longer before she pulled away.

* * *

Everything seemed different without Brittany there. The kitchen echoed too much. The rugs scattered throughout the rooms were rough on her feet. The bed had apparently hardened, and the pillows felt like bricks. It was a combination of that and the too cold sheets that had Santana sitting quietly on her balcony at the ass-crack of dawn the next morning, waiting for the rest of the world to wake up alongside her. A vibration in her shorts jolted her from the hazy reveries her mind had been fluttering through - memories of waking up late in the day with a warm blonde snuggled into her neck. _That's _what mornings should be like.

_Good morning beautiful. How was your night?_

Santana's fingers flew across the keys as she typed out a simple response.

_Aw. :( I wish I could have been there too. My mom lied. I really don't think my bed cares that I was gone. I think _your _bed misses me more than mine ever did. _

She tried to hold back a chuckle but was unsuccessful, and felt her phone vibrate in her palm once more.

_Anyway, go look outside your door. :) _

Shuffling down the stairs, trying not to get her hopes up that Brittany had woken up at five in the morning to come over before she had work, she slowly made her way across the living room. Opening the front door, she found a steaming cup of coffee from the Lima Bean and a blueberry muffin. Bringing the two items to the kitchen counter, she _also _found that despite her disappointment at the blonde in question being MIA, she couldn't fight the overwhelming grin plastered across her features. She was entirely sure her cheeks were straining under the tension of smiling so hard and so often. She typed out a quick thank you, throwing in a few x's and o's at the end before heading back upstairs to shower and prepare for what she was sure would be the longest day of her life.

* * *

"Good morning, Dr. Carl Howell's office. This is Santana, how can I help you?" For the record, there are only so many times someone can repeat that phrase before they honestly don't care if the person is having a good morning, or if they can actually help. This is the point Santana was at, having been answering phones all morning.

_No ma'am, I'm sorry. We don't take walk ins. Okay, have a great day.  
Yes, we do pediatric dental care. Thank you, have a great day.  
You'll have to check with your insurance on whether that is covered. All right, have a great day.  
No, this is not a plastic surgery clinic. Mhm, have a great day.  
I'm sorry, you have the wrong number. Yes, that's fine. Have a great day._

She didn't care much if they had a great day. In fact, they could have a terrible day for all she cared at this point. They could be attacked by mutant bath salt zombies and it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference to her. It was exhausting to be that nice all of the time, and by her lunch break, she was itching for a cigarette and a strong dose of blonde.

She called the now familiar number as she sat on a bench outside of the office, lighting the cigarette between shaky lips. The phone rang twice before being sent to voicemail, and where it not for the rush of nicotine and almost immediate text she received, Santana might have turned into a bath salt zombie of her own.

_I switched to day shifts, so I can't talk. I can text though, because Megan doesn't get too mad. :)_

A few flicks of her fingers, and she impatiently away Brittany's response again.

_To be able to see you more silly. If you worked all day and I worked all night, I'd never get any Santana time, and I'm not okay with that. _

She took in a deep drag of her cigarette in an attempt to conceal the goofy grin on her face. It never ceased to amaze her how easily the blonde managed to turn her mood around completely, no matter what it was that was going on.

_I'll text you in a little bit. I've got filing to do. :( Pasta for dinner? _

Santana quickly sent a text in agreement, now completely unable to hide her smile. When she got home, someone would be there, more than happy to see her. She'd have dinner at a table with someone who loved her, and probably curl up to watch movies after. It was an intoxicating idea, but it also prompted her to think further into the future.

She'd sworn off dating and relationships. She'd grow nauseous at the thought of children and marriage. Having her family broken apart at such a young age, she'd forced herself to dislike ideas of domesticity and routine.

_Okay :) I love you! xoxo_

But somewhere, tugging at the back of her mind was the hope that maybe her opinions could change, and she had a distinct feeling that over the next year, that beautiful, haphazard, sweep-you-off-your-feet blonde would be the one to change them.

**AN: This chapter was a little more difficult to flesh out, and ended up being more of a filler. I have a few ideas of where and how I would like this story to end, but it's a matter of getting there, so if you have any suggestions or comments, please don't keep them to yourself! I appreciate each and every one of you, and I've received amazing help from some of my readers while working on other fics.  
Read, and review if you do so feel inclined. Thanks again for sticking with me!**


	14. Chapter 14

How is it that something as concrete as time can be so seemingly abstract in the same breath? Each tick of the clock moves us further along in our lives, but we go day in and day out not noticing the ticking, and if we do notice it, very rarely do we ever think that it's in sync with our world. Time is either dragging through a long day, or flying past us when things finally settle into contentment, and then there are moments when neither rings true. There are moments when time seems to be moving simultaneously entirely too slow and too fast and backwards and sideways and upside down all at once, and our equilibrium is thrown off. Our balance falters, and we tumble.

* * *

Hot breath on a porcelain neck pushed the girl over her edge as her girlfriend's fingers worked within her, sending her dizzying thoughts towards one central focus - the caramel skin and strong shoulders and dexterous hands that were all over her, grasping at the most clandestine portions of her heart.

"I don't want summer to end," she finally panted out. "I don't want this summer to ever end." She pulled her lip between her teeth, and the motion did not go unnoticed by her lover, still hovering just above her.

Her eyes held hesitation and the slightest hint of fear as Santana bore into them, tracing her thumb back and forth over her girlfriend's cheekbone, now fully covered in freckles from long weekends at the river. "Que pasa mi amor?"

"It sounds so stupid when I say it out loud." Santana shook her head and tutted her, the oft repeated words hanging silently in the stagnant air. _Nothing you think is stupid. _Brittany let out a huff of hair, giggling slightly when the air fluttered her girlfriend's bangs upward, only furthering the messiness her tangled locks had become overnight. It was the last Naked Sunday of their summer together, and with school starting the next day, the blonde's brain had been in overdrive since she'd woken up, which was hours before Santana had. She took in a deep breath before speaking, her voice barely audible despite their silence. "I don't want this to be just a summer fling. I'm scared I'm going to lose you once school starts again."

"Britt, you aren't going to lose me," she replied, her tone low to try and convey the seriousness of her words. "If I have my way, you'll be stuck with me for good." The blonde, however, still seemed somewhat unconvinced, and Santana continued on, hoping her words could reassure the girl as it seemed her uncharacteristic _mushy and extremely fucking gushy _actions over the course of the summer hadn't. "I meant it when I said I love you. I won't walk away until you tell me to."

Wrapping her arms around her girlfriend, Brittany brought the two more closely together before murmuring a single "okay," against plump lips, rolling them over to take full advantage of their summer's last Naked Sunday.

* * *

Several pots and pans were simmering on the stove, the blonde stirring them dancing along to the radio as per the dinner tradition that had been established throughout the summer. Santana grinned at her scooting around, flipping the fish she had searing and checking more times than necessary on the asparagus in the oven. The smaller girl hopped off her stool to answer her ringing phone in the other room, only mildly surprised to see Ms. Puckerman's name on the screen, as she'd taken to checking on her a few times a week.

"Hey Mama P! What's up?" she greeted, not even attempting to conceal her excitement.

The woman chuckled in return, throwing around some small talk before digging into the true reasoning behind her phone call. "You aren't taking a full schedule, are you?"

"No, only four classes this year, and I don't even need that many to graduate. I asked to be put into a studio course so I could use the dark room. Why?"

"You've got the day off tomorrow and I need you to meet me somewhere. I've already talked to your trustee about things, and he's agreed to allow the money you'll need to be put into your account. I'll text you the address and you'll meet me after school there tomorrow."

The subject was vague, more vague than the girl would normally accept, but she knew from prior experience that questioning the woman on the other end of the line typically didn't end well. She shrugged her shoulders at Brittany, who'd wandered into the living room with a lightly confused look, and sighed. "Okay Mama Puck. Can I bring Britt?"

"Of course sweetie. I'd love to see both of my babies." The smile was evident through her words, and that provoked a grin to sneak across Santana's features as well. It had been just over a month since she'd moved into her apartment, and Puckerman dinners were a weekly tradition, as were dinners with Holly at the Pierce household. Thankfully, both mothers had taken to their children's girlfriends, and Brittany and Puck were even becoming friends, for a lack of a more fitting moniker, as the blonde had fervently denied the title of "official lesbro." After reassuring her foster mother that she was just fine, eating plenty, paying the bills on time, and "generally behaving," she was finally able to hang up and head back into the kitchen to settle down for dinner.

"What'd Mama Puck want?" Brittany asked casually after they'd been sitting in a fair amount of silence, save for the forks scraping against their plates.

"I don't know exactly. She texted me an address and said something about my trust fund and asked for us to meet her there after our studio classes." The delivery of her sentence was nonchalant, but her girlfriend's reaction was anything but.

Brittany choked a little, coughing a few times before taking a sip of her water and managing to squeak out, "Trust fund?"

Santana's eyes widened in response, realizing she'd never specifically mentioned the copious amounts of money sitting around waiting for her to turn twenty five, and then thirty. On her birthday, she'd received a third of the amount, which was more than enough to cover her expenses until her next portion was released, but she'd simply skirted around the subject with her girlfriend. She cleared her throat and nodded. "Yeah, trust fund. My parents left everything to me, so after their cars and house were sold, the money was put away until I turned eighteen."

"Can I ask - "

"It's a lot Britt. That's all I really know. I wouldn't have to work if I didn't want to."

The silence fell around them again before Brittany turned to her girlfriend, waiting patiently for Santana to catch her staring. Provoked by a quirked eyebrow, she finally spoke. "Are you sure you want me to come?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't want you to think I'm sticking around for the money."

Santana couldn't help the chuckle that came from the depths of her throat. "Britt, you hit on me when I was technically homeless and flirting for free cigarettes. I'm pretty sure I know you're not here for the money."

* * *

The hallways were crowded with meandering students and the permeating stench of the cafeteria's food as the duo stood outside of a simple wooden door. The morning had passed by in a flurry of syllabi and new textbooks and less than subtle staring. Remembering her conversation with Puck, she equated it to the fact that Brittany, though far from popular, was fairly well known and had never been spotted holding hands with or kissing or whispering sweet nothings to a girlfriend.

"You ready?" she inquired, noticing the nerves practically falling off of the blonde's thin frame. The girl simply nodded in response, and Santana tip toed upwards to press a lingering kiss to her cheek. "You're going to be amazing."

With that, she pulled her in for a last hug, promising to meet her in the parking lot after classes, and turned down the hallway to make sure she wasn't late for her own studio class.

As the door swung shut behind her, Santana couldn't help the breath that caught in her throat. The classroom was unlike the others in the school, with six desks set in a semicircle, all focused towards one wall covered in black and white prints from prior years. A second wall was covered in floor to ceiling shelving with not a spare inch unoccupied by cameras, from film versions that had to have been over one hundred years old to the most up-to-date digitals. She slid into the one empty desk left, unable to pull her eyes away from the culmination of photographs in front of her until the door shut once more, jolting her and her classmates from their obvious leering. A tall, thin woman swept in, her long skirt barely dusting the floor. She pulled a pen out of the mess of auburn hair piled atop her head and read through the roll quickly before beginning to outline the goals for the year, all of which left Santana itching to have her camera in her hands. Only a few words made it through her head as she envisioned long nights in the dark room, working on developing the photos she'd take, and being the first person to see her creations come to life under the orange lighting. _Landscapes, shutters, portraits, filters _- they were all words she was familiar with, and until they were going to be legitimately instructed, she had a hard time keeping her mind focused until she heard the three words Brittany had whispered to her that first night at her apartment. _Fine art nude_. It wasn't so much the words that caught her attention, but instead, the gasps and murmuring of her peers while her face held a slight smirk. _I've so fucking got this. _

The bell rang, everyone scrambling to gather their things, but Santana was stopped by her teacher calling her name out just as her hand hit the doorknob. She turned around, facing the woman, confused as to why no one else had been held back.

"I'm looking forward to seeing your work Ms. Lopez." Her eyebrow quirked itself without her meaning it to, and the woman laughed gently. "I can tell you have a lot to say, and your camera is the only way you can say it. I've had a lot of students, and it isn't hard to tell when there's something special hiding behind someone's lens. You look at things differently."

Santana nodded, fighting the flush growing on her cheeks. "My girlfriend said the same thing." Determined to turn the conversation into a more lighthearted direction, she continued. "Therefore, in retaliation, she's become my model." The two shared a soft chuckle before the younger girl nodded her head in the direction of the door, indicating that she needed to leave. Her teacher nodded in response, ushering her out with a flick of her hand.

* * *

"Do you have any idea where we're going?"

"Nope. I know places, not addresses."

"So we could be going to a crack house?"

"I'm approximately 100% sure that my foster mom wouldn't send us to a crack house Britt," she chortled, feigning annoyance, but truthfully thankful for the joking her girlfriend had been doling out during the ride. She had no idea what they would be walking into, and the mention of her trust fund only added to the inherent uneasiness queuing in her stomach.

_In .1 miles, turn left onto Foster Street. _The cool British tone of Brittany's GPS filled the car, and she flipped her blinker on, pulling to a stop at the last intersection they would encounter. _Destination in .3 miles, on right. _The two girls whipped their heads to look out of the passenger window, watching for the address they were meant to pull into.

"Is that - ?" Santana's voice held so many emotions it was difficult to pin down each one. Excitement, shock, and confusion were top of the blonde's list as she watched her girlfriend's face transform into a wide grin. "Oh my god. Oh my sweet baby Jesus. Britt!"

In the parking lot sat a smug Noah Puckerman, arms crossed as he leaned against a white Jeep, a massive red bow tied across the hood. His mother stood next to him, beaming, and beckoned the two girls forward with her arms frantically waving.

"Is this okay?" her foster mother questioned, chuckling as Santana simply nodded furiously, mouth agape, yet unable to form coherent sentences.

Brittany wrapped her arms around her girlfriend's waist, leaning her head onto a warmed caramel shoulder before winking at Ms. Puckerman. "I think she likes it." She turned and pressed a kiss into Santana's cheek. "Do you like it baby?"

The girl ignored the conversations around her, eyes fixated on the vehicle in front of her, before placing two hands on the driver's side door and whispering, "It's _so _pretty," in an awestruck voice.

Puck opened the door and gestured for her to get in. "Your carriage awaits m'lady." His words fell on deaf ears as she hopped in quickly and squeezed the steering wheel until her knuckles were blanching, bouncing up and down in her seat excitedly.

"Yeah," Ms. Puckerman grinned, turning to the blonde next to her, both watching Santana with amused expressions. "I think she likes it."

**AN: I'm sorry for the delay in updating. Couple writer's block with being miserably ill half the weekend, and you have my excuse. I want to let everyone know that while I'm not sure how long it will take to get there, I do know this story will be ending with their senior year. I've given thought to a sequel, but I know I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. Haha.**

However, there is something pretty big in the works that will be introduced within the next chapter - shaking things up a bit. ;) Read and review if you'd like. I love to hear your thoughts. :)


	15. Chapter 15

School. Work. Brittany. School. Work. Brittany. School. Work. Brittany. Her days were becoming repetitive, and despite her inherent dislike for monotony and routine, Santana found herself enjoying the concrete nature of her days. She almost liked knowing that she'd drive home and more times than not walk into an apartment bursting with intoxicating scents and an even more intoxicating blonde stirring pots and pans absentmindedly. She was falling into a haze of domesticity, one in which she'd clean up around the apartment while waiting for dinner to be finished - one when watching movies curled up on the couch with a glass of wine was more than she could ask for in an evening. But despite her comfort in this menial moments, she still felt a slight tug in her gut about being _too _comfortable. She wasn't sure she could fool herself into thinking that things would last like this forever. Sure, they had a year left of high school, and maybe they could make it through that, but further? College had a tendency to tear apart even the strongest relationships, and she hadn't the slightest clue as to where Brittany was planning on applying. She also hadn't the foggiest idea when she'd become such a ball of mush in regards to relationships. Where was the Santana Lopez who flirted, but never pursued? The girl who didn't "do" the couple thing? The one who was against attachment and dreaming of a future with someone?

"Penny for your thoughts babe," she heard whispered into her ear before a soft kiss was pressed to her temple. The melodic voice yanked her from her cycle of _what ifs _and _maybe whens_and plopped her firmly back down in the present. "Are you thinking about your audition?"

Her audition was the absolute _last _think she was thinking about. "Yeah, just a little nervous."

"You'll be amazing, I know it."

Somehow, their school had managed to get a performance of Rent approved as the musical for the year. Sure, their performing arts program was strong, and held just as much weight if not more than the athletics department, thus the expanse of studios across campus, but Santana was shocked that they'd allow something so _risqué_ to be publicized onstage. Brittany had heard about it from her dance instructor, who'd encouraged her peers to audition, and that somehow turned into Santana auditioning for one of the lead roles. _It wasn't the pout. The pout has no effect on me. _

* * *

There it was. Her name, in black and white, on a sheet of paper boasting the names of the other students she'd be spending the next few months working very closely with - a few of them more closely than others. She'd heard a few of the names in passing, but honestly, she was much better with faces than with anything else. Her finger scrolled further down the page, stopping right at the bottom of the paper before pumping her fist in the air once and bouncing a little on her feet.

_Student choreographer: Brittany Pierce_

She snapped a photo of the list and texted it to her girlfriend while practically skipping to her car. When she walked into the building and slid into her chair behind her desk, her good mood did not go unnoticed by anyone. She was more than helpful on the phone, actually looking up a phone number for someone who was trying to get in touch with Barnes and Noble and had ended up on the phone with her instead. She rarely huffed at stupid questions, and even had forgone her afternoon smoke break, replying with "No, that's okay. I think I'll catch up on some filing."

Half of the dental assistants thought she was high. The other half eloquently implied that "perhaps she'd had a romantic evening prior." The latter rumor was only perpetuated when a glowing Brittany flew into the office building not long before closing hours with a bouquet of yellow roses and a blinding smile. Looking past the privacy window, she was met with hazel eyes rather than mocha ones however, and her smile dimmed momentarily before lighting up once again.

"Hey Mama P!" she greeted before she was ushered through the waiting room door and into the small receptionist area. The woman wrapped her in a bone crushing hug, though the two girls had been to dinner with her just days ago.

Ms. Puckerman appraised the girl from arm's length, eyes roaming from the silk top covered by a military jacket, down to the nude peep toe heels just peeking out from underneath dark jeans. "You look beautiful sweetheart. Celebratory dinner date?" The blonde nodded enthusiastically, unable to break the grin that had been permanently settled into her features since early that afternoon. "I'm so proud of you two. I can't wait to see the show. You'll do amazingly."

"Because she's the best dancer our school's ever seen," she heard from behind her, turning to meet a beaming girl, leaned up against the doorframe to the office. Her smile grow slightly shyer, handing the bouquet to Santana after pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You ready Britt? Dr. Howell saw you getting out of the car when he was finishing up a cleaning and said I could leave a little early." The blonde nodded again, waving to Ms. Puckerman, who was holding back a chuckle as she watched the two bounce giddily out of the front door hand in hand.

* * *

Settling into a booth at a small Mexican restaurant the two had come to frequent, they ordered virgin daiquiris and chattered excitedly about the upcoming rehearsal schedule and the others they'd be starring with. One name in particular caught Santana's attention - the girl she'd be working the most closely with.

"Yeah, Rachel is dead set on Broadway. She's planning on moving to New York once we graduate from what I hear."

"And how did you hear that?" she half-joked.

"She'll tell absolutely anyone who will listen," she chuckled in response. "She's incredibly talented, but the constant Broadway talk can be a little grating after a while. I guess you have to admire how she's so dead set on her dreams for after high school though."

"And what about you?" Santana wasn't ready for this conversation, but to be entirely honest, she didn't think she would ever be ready for it. There would be no time when she was brave enough to confront their impending futures, and there was never going to be a "perfect moment" to bring it up in dialogue.

Brittany tilted her head and flashed an overly cheeky grin. "What about me?" The smaller girl rolled her eyes in return and pulled her straw toward her lips to take a slow sip of her drink. "All I know is that I want to dance. I really can't see myself doing much else than that. But that brings me to the question of where, and I haven't quite sorted that out yet. New York is just, too much for me. Los Angeles has gorgeous weather, but everyone there seems like they'd be just as cut throat, but fake about it. So I don't know where else I'd land myself. My mom and I talked about Chicago, but I haven't had a chance to go yet, so I don't know if I'd like it there."

The last suggestion caught a chunk of ice in Santana's throat and she fought merciless coughing fits until the frozen villain melted, allowing her the power of speech that was immediately run over by Brittany's apparent insecurities about her decision.

"Are you okay? Do you think me going to Chicago is a stupid idea?"

The brunette sent her a wan smile and shook her head slightly. "I think Chicago would be amazing for you."

* * *

To say the first semester was passing quickly would be the understatement of the century. The trees were barren, their leaves scattered across the sidewalks by the chilly wind that had infiltrated all of Ohio. The sleet and snow and frigid air was enough to make Santana almost miss the sweltering heat of July. _Almost _being the operative word.

She felt like she'd been sent months forward in some shitty time machine, because one minute, they were in August and the next, December was rolling around. Her critiques were going well and her grades were as good as always, but it seemed strange that somehow she had missed three months of time. The scenes for the musical had been blocked and read through and rehearsed what felt like a thousand times. The brunette had every dance move perfectly memorized, due in no small part to the ever-patient blonde choreographer the cast had been graced with who may or may not have been given her private tutorials that started vertically clothed and ended horizontally naked. The show was due to open not long after the new year, and they'd been granted a few days before Christmas to relax before heading back in on their vacation days to run dress rehearsals and perform the musical a few times full out.

Brittany had been right in saying Rachel was talented, but even more right in saying she was irritating. She spoke in long winded sentences, usually implementing words with far too many syllables and vague definitions. It took all Santana had not to roll her eyes every time the girl opened her mouth unless it were to sing. She could have done a hell of a lot worse for a co-star, though this month's rehearsals would certainly prove to be a challenge.

"So you and Rachel move on from blocking to actual _rehearsing_this week, right?" The words were colored with teasing, and if she weren't mistaken, a touch of jealousy in the blonde's voice.

"Yep. Frodo and I get to start making out this week, and boy, am I pumped," she deadpanned in response. Santana expected a giggle, but received nothing from Brittany and nudged her shoulder in the hopes of provoking _something. _No dice. "Britt, are you - " she took her time finishing the sentence, rolling the word around in her mouth. "Jealous?"

Blonde hair smacked her face as the girl whipped around to stare at her girlfriend. "What? No. Absolutely not."

Santana hummed in return, fighting soft chuckles. "Okay babe. Whatever you say. I mean, I totally understand if you are, considering Rachel's tongue will be in - " She was cut off by a flash of darkness passing over her girlfriend's features, a confident tongue making its way into her mouth, and a warm hand that easily found itself between her thighs, leaving a lump in Santana's throat that she was fighting to swallow.

Brittany leaned over the smaller girl, effectively pinning her down as her fingers moved slightly against Santana's center. "Her tongue will never be where mine has been, and it better stay that way. When the curtain falls, you're mine, and if it takes all night to remind you of that, then you better not bet on getting much sleep."

**AN: This chapter was a little choppy, and I may come back and re-write it, but the story needed to get moving, and I was having a bit of a block as how to do so.  
Now I've got a question. We've seen semi-jealous Britt (which isn't quite done, haha), but I need to know your feelings on Rachel having a significant other as well. It usually comes down to either Quinn or Finn, and though personally I'm not a huge fan of Finchel, this is up to you guys, because I'm writing _for you_.**

So Finchel or Faberry? :)


	16. Chapter 16

"And let's run it again." Who knew that circling a pool table could be this exhausting? The two girls had been running the number for hours, and apparently dehydration, clinical exhaustion, and near perfection weren't quite good enough. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and the last place Santana wanted to be was playing Ring Around the Rosy with a vertically challenged woodland creature when there was a gloriously sweaty blonde damn near eye-fucking her from the wings.

After blocking the scene a fifth time, and running it full-out with no foreseen problems, the two girls were finally allowed to head home, both barely dragging their feet in the direction of their belongings - Rachel toward a water bottle encrusted with gold stars and Santana toward a sweatpants cladded female who roughly took hold of her as soon as she'd wandered off stage.

Brittany ran her fingers underneath the high waistband of her girlfriend's costume, appreciating the lightly damp skin there before tugging at her collar and bringing their lips together. Her groans were muffled by plump lips until Santana pulled away, sighing softly, leaning into the blonde's chest.

"Longest day ever," she whined, as every movement sent more debilitating aches through muscles she was sure she didn't possess before this musical began.

"Totally worth it though, because I got to fantasize about taking you on that pool table for the last hour. I certainly had a good time," Brittany chuckled in response, wrapping her arms around Santana's shoulders and pulling her more closely. "Why don't we head home and I'll run you a bath while I fix up something for dinner? You, me, a bottle of wine, your favorite lasagna, and any movie without singing."

"I can't think of anything more perfect than that," she whispered, interlacing their fingers and tugging her toward the exit.

Across the stage stood another petite brunette, watching the interaction with little less than seething jealousy. Her calculated stare had taken in every aspect of their interactions - the ease with which they shared affection and the lack of reserve they had in doing so. Her blatant leering was noticed by the soft spoken blonde behind her, who took the couple's departure as an appropriate moment to clear her throat.

Rachel squatted down, picking up her bag and sliding it over one shoulder while capping her water bottle. "Hey Quinn." Her typically confident and over worded voice held hesitation in the greeting, and the blonde quickly picked up on the undertones lacing her shortened sentence.

"A lot on your mind?" she inquired, pausing for effect but not expecting an answer to the clearly rhetorical question. Her voice lowered an octave as she stepped further toward the brunette, using the slight height difference to create a semblance of authority. "I can help distract you." Her index finger traced a line from underneath Rachel's ear, moving fluidly over her shoulder and down the length of her arm before trailing back upwards.

"No thank you," she finally managed to squeak out in response. "I feel as though preparations for my collegiate auditions have been lackluster at best, and though musical theater and your writhing form beneath me are tantalizing, they are both large proponents in my procrastination. Perhaps another time."

What had started as a rage induced, albeit heated in its own right, kiss during their war over Finn (one Santana had so sweetly nicknamed the Battle of the Bulge) had turned into far more than raging physicality for one half of the unlikely duo. Granted, a penchant for not acknowledging her emotions and a clear dedication to her reputation left the other half more than unwilling to admit to similar feelings, only further perpetuating Rachel's idea that she was not quite good enough for their high school's resident porcelain doll.

The look that had settled firmly into Quinn's features was one the other girl was unfamiliar with. It held tinges of anger, a fair amount of disappointment, and what could have been misconstrued as guilt, but the petite brunette quickly brushed off that assumption, as their "arrangement" was not one conducive to that emotion. Quinn had refused sexual encounters in any place that could be considered intimate, namely either of their beds, couches, or showers, apparently. But just as Rachel had been watching Brittany and Santana, Quinn had been as well, and therein the beginnings of desire for just a little more began to lay themselves.

As the two took off into opposite directions, one watched the girls just down the hallway from her, not allowing one inch of space to separate them, while the other took in the pang in her chest that accompanied the sounds of their laughter.

* * *

The combination of a full plate of lasagna, two even fuller glasses of wine, and the scent of spearmint and eucalyptus were sending Santana quickly into a semi-unconscious state. Brittany's nimble fingers kneading her shoulder blades only perpetuated the comfort-bubble-coma she found herself enveloped in, letting out a long sigh as a particularly rough knot finally broke apart and dissipated.

"Sweet baby Jesus with a cherry on top," she murmured, half-asleep. "Your fingers are amazing Britt."

"I've heard that a few times," she replied cheekily, laughing as she received a less than enthusiastic slap on her thigh. "So, what do you want to do about the holidays?"

"What about them? Presents and food - I'm golden. I have no other plans."

Brittany held back a chuckle at the sleepy slurring and shortened sentences that were a telltale sign her girlfriend was fading quickly into dreamland, despite still being curled up in a steaming bath. "Well, my mom isn't big into holidays, so she thought maybe we could do Christmas Eve with her, and then you could have Christmas Day with Mama P and Puck."

"Are you coming?" She flipped around in the tub, fitting her legs over Brittany's thighs and giggling slightly when she noticed the confusion on her girlfriend's face. "Mama said she wanted you there." The blonde fought a grin before nodding, the flash in her eyes indicating an unspoken _there's nowhere else I'd rather be._

After drying off, the two flopped into bed, the mixture of cool sheets and warm bare skin sending them quickly into the familiar unconscious state of tangled limbs, slower breathing, and soft _god-I-can't-believe-she's-mine_ smiles.

* * *

"Why did you not tell me this?"

"Because it's more fun this way."

More fun consisted of a Harry Potter movie marathon and taking shots of Kahlua Spiced Eggnog any time there was a sexual innuendo in the dialogue. By the third movie, the three women had managed to make just about any interaction somewhat dirty, and the eggnog was freely flowing.

Despite being a closeted book nerd, Santana was having a hard time getting into the first movie, scoffing repeatedly at inconsistencies in the plot line, or pointing out obviously unrealistic things. The second movie brought out bursts of giggles and exaggerated gasps at even mildly frightening moments, which paled in comparison to the later movies. The third held a Santana the blonde had yet to meet, as she had never had more than a few glasses of wine around the girl.

"That girl is hot," she gushed. "Hermininny -"

"Anemone?" Brittany quirked an eyebrow, laughing at her girlfriend's inability to pronounce words over two syllables long.

"Fuck you. She's hot," she mumbled again, leaning further into the blonde's side. "You're hot," she continued, pressing an open mouthed kiss to Brittany's neck. Her attention was fully focused on the shiver in the girl's spine and not on the conversation between the protagonist and his professor on-screen.

_Can we have another go? Just one more go?  
Not now. You've had enough for one night. _

"SHOT!" she heard Holly exclaim gleefully from across the room, leading all three to fall over in laughter after taking yet another swig of the almost sickeningly sweet liquid.

* * *

Santana woke up entirely too early the next morning to hot, open mouthed kisses being pressed across her collarbone, and she groaned until she felt the fingers wrapped around her neck begin massaging the back of her head, easing the pounding tension the night's drinking had led to. As soon as her body began relaxing, that hand met another and took to rubbing circles into her temples, further soothing her aching head as she cursed J.K Rowling for being _so damn wanky_.

She hummed in appreciation, thankful for the second time in a row that her girlfriend's fingers were just as wonderful north of the border as they were south. "Britt, that feels amazing."

"Just wait," she whispered conspiratorially, pressing the kisses further down to the swell of her breasts, devastatingly still covered by her tank top. "What time do we have to be at Mama's?"

"Ten thirty, but don't let that stop you," she murmured as Brittany's kisses continued to cover every bare inch of skin while her skilled fingers moved down her abdomen, barely skimming the caramel skin beneath them. "We can be a little late."

Her hands continued tickling down Santana's sides until they slipped under her shorts, massaging the warmth that had pooled spectacularly despite the girl's early-morning-and-late-night lack of mental cognition. Her body needed no thought processes to react to the immediate arousal that Brittany's body provided, and that was clear as two fingers slipped easily within the girl. The rest of the morning was a cacophony of moans and whimpers, a beautiful photograph of arched backs and utmost comfort, an homage to the burgeoning love between the two as both fell back to the bed, spent, yet simultaneously buzzing with excitement over their first real holiday together.

After their conversation at dinner, Santana couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, things would always be this perfect - that they could move to Chicago and get an apartment. They could get a spare room for Brittany to turn into a studio, and come home for holidays. They could buy their own Christmas tree and kiss each other every New Year's. They could - _oh, for fuck's sake. Get it together Lopez. _She tried to bargain with herself, allowing thoughts to go only so far, but then rolling over to find bright blue eyes boring into her, any semblance of control she had was lost, and her mind fluttered back to a house with a garage, a dog - a chocolate lab perhaps, and 2.5 kids.

* * *

**AN: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. :) Christmas Day will be in Chapter 16, and additionally, the musical will be fast approaching. Immediately after that performance however, there will be a bit of a twist in the girl's plans, based on two new characters being introduced (both from Glee, but both used out of their canon storylines).**

I'll get up the next chapter as soon as possible, as soon as I can sit down with my lovely pseudo-beta girlfriend and figure out the last of the kinks in the plot for it. 


	17. Chapter 17

The two girls pulled into the familiar driveway and hopped out of Santana's Jeep, making their way to the front door in record time, purses and presents in tow, despite a near fatal slip on Brittany's part on a patch of ice she hadn't seen coming. The pair were giggles and reddened cheeks when Puck greeted them, folding both into a bear hug and dragging them in quickly as they shook the sprinklings of frost off of their coats. Bing Crosby fluttered through the warm air as they stripped off layer upon layer, appreciating the blazing heat of the fireplace before heading into the kitchen to help finish up any last minute preparations Ms. Puckerman had yet to complete.

Hearing the girl's laughter and an extremely offended, if slightly drawn out utterance of her son's name accompanied by a muffled punch to the bicep, she met the trio halfway, taking her time with the girls in her arms, the citrus of Brittany's shampoo barely evident over the fresh snow and burning wood than had engrained itself into their skin. The four stuffed themselves with the overwhelming amount of food set on the table before flopping on couches to regroup for their present opening.

Sluggishness overtook all of them, and it was several minutes before anyone made a move toward the tree. The three women watched Puck dig through the brightly wrapped gifts before finding one near the back, tied with a bright red bow. He sheepishly walked towards the two girls cuddled on the couch and cleared his throat before thrusting the box toward Santana and jamming his hands into his pockets, avoiding eye contact. In order to try and take the spotlight off of the girl, Ms. Puckerman quickly stood, passing out the other presents as the brunette slowly eased off the bow. Inside that box was another wrapped gift, and she'd made her way through three levels, shooting Puck a glare with each one, before finding a small box in the center, containing a delicate charm bracelet with a small circle dangling from the end, engraved with the word _hermana. _She was prompted to open a second box, much smaller, finding two other charms, one the birthstone of her mother, and the other, the same for Ms. Puckerman. She was fighting tears at this point, and the hushed words of her foster mom when she was pulled into a hug did nothing to quell them.

"So you'll never forget either of us sweetheart, no matter where you end up."

When she settled back into the couch cushions, watching Puck receive a new guitar pick and set of strings from his mother, she felt a prod in her side and turned to meet soft blue eyes. Looking down was the third, and last box, containing a fourth charm - the infinity symbol. Tucked underneath the charm was a folded piece of paper with five words in loopy writing.

_I will love you forever. _

The tears broke, and she pulled her girlfriend into her arms, her teeth chattering and her body a confused mess of tears and laughter. Steadily wiping her cheeks, she heard a slight gasp, and saw that Ms. Puckerman had opened her last present as well, the tears on the woman's face rekindling her own. The woman beckoned her over, continually whispering "It's beautiful," as Santana fastened the pendant over her heart, whispering the words written into the sterling silver to her second mother. "_Madre de alma _- soul mother."

While the two women in the corner fought another onslaught of tears, Brittany slipped upstairs, returning moments later with a box over half her size, resting it against the banister of the stairway, waiting for the emotional level of the room to tide over before getting Puck's attention with a slight cough.

"Jesus Britt! Did you buy me a small African country?"

"Not quite, unless that's what you want, because we can totally bring this back," she replied coolly, a light smirk coating her features. Puck flew across the room, and Brittany moved toward the other two women in the room, settling herself on the opposite arm of the chair Ms. Puckerman resided in, resting a hand on her shoulder. All three shared a look of confusion when the boy ran his fingers over his mohawk, shaking his head.

"I can't accept this." He turned to face the girl he'd come to know as his sister, continuing on. "Santana, this is - this is too much."

"Puckerman, listen to me, and listen to me well." She hopped off of the recliner she'd been perched on, moving across the living room and pulling Noah's eyes off of the still half-wrapped electric guitar resting against the stairs. "We're family. You could have ignored me when I moved in, and when I left, you could have acted as though nothing had ever happened between us, but you didn't. You're sweet and protective and everything I could ask for in a brother, and you more than deserve this, okay? So, take it. Please. What's the point of having all this money if I can't spoil the people I love?" A trace of a smile flickered across his face, and she nudged him in the ribs. "Besides, I can only take so much acoustic Johnny Cash, all right?"

He finally broke, laughing at her jibe and wrapping her in his arms. "Love you sis."

"Love you too bro."

* * *

After a long day of more suitable movie marathons and a few impromptu performances from Puck, with Santana on vocals, the two girls dragged themselves into the apartment, tossing their shoes and bags near the door and practically collapsing on the couch.

"Eating, drinking, and being merry is freaking exhausting," the brunette huffed, running her fingers through her hair. Brittany simply nodded, trying to conceal the fact that she was a little upset, though confused might be a better word, as to why she hadn't received anything. Santana had been secretive for weeks, and it seemed as though she had been planning something big, but apparently the blonde was mistaken.

"Britt-Britt, are you okay?" She nodded again, forcing a smile. "Or are you mad that I didn't buy you anything?" Brittany then shook her head vehemently from side to side, hoping her protests would be taken seriously. Santana smirked, crawling across the couch to straddle her girlfriend's lap, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips before reaching into her back pocket and revealing a simple, white envelope. "I didn't forget about you Britt. I just wanted you to open this when we were alone." She nodded her encouragement, and the blonde slipped a single finger under the flap, effectively ripping the top of the envelope off and removing the single sheet of paper inside.

_Dear Ms. Pierce,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Columbia College Chicago. Our admissions staff would like to offer you $20,000 per academic year, so long as the scholarship requirements are met. Since its creation, Columbia College -_

The rest of the words faded into blurriness and the only tangible thing in her world was the feeling of Santana's lips against her own, conveying gratitude from one girl and immense pride from the other. Finally pulling away, questions flitted in and out of Brittany's head, hows and whens and whys, but her girlfriend anticipated her inability to form this thoughts into constructed sentences and pressed their lips together once more before explaining.

"Holly helped. We wrote your admissions essay together, about your dad and how you'd stopped dancing after - and then I put together a video, hoping they'd take that over an audition, of all the times you'd dance in the shed, or the studio, or in the kitchen. We even have clips of you instructing for the musical. The dean of the dance program actually called me, to ask a few more questions about you, and said she'd put in a good word for me in the visual arts department, because," she put on a slightly snotty accent, "_your inherent dedication to your girlfriend's future pays homage to your dedication in ozzer areas of your life, of zat I am sure_."

Brittany giggled, allowing some of the happiness bubbling in her chest to be released before she exploded, leaking pure, unadulterated joy all over the apartment. They sat silently, never breaking the other's gaze and subconsciously tangling and untangling their fingers. "Thank you," the blonde barely breathed out, and Santana nodded shyly in response. She took a moment before asking the only question left in her mind after everything had been, for the most part, explained. "So, are you coming?"

"What do you mean B?"

"You never said where you wanted to go to college. Mama Puck told me not to worry about it in her weird, _I am all knowing_way, but I want to hear it from you. Are you coming with me?"

Santana paused, not all too ready to be shut down in the event that she'd read everything wrong, and this was one of those crazy girlfriend trust games. "Do you want me to?" she finally queried.

Brittany's eyes stayed locked on their hands, her thumbs drawing circles on the tanned palms in front of her, before looking up into mocha eyes. Her gaze flickered back and forth before settling much steadily on Santana and nodding. "I'd like you to, if that's what you wanted."

"Okay."

"Okay," the blonde breathed out. "Wait, wait no. Okay that I want you to come, or okay that you plan on coming?"

Santana giggled, letting loose some of the anxiety wracking her limbs and appreciating the fact that she wasn't the only one with nerves fluttering through her body. "Okay. I'm coming." She reached into her back pocket once more, pulling out a second envelope and handing it to her girlfriend.

_Dear Ms. Lopez,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Columbia College Chicago. Our admissions staff would like to offer you $20,000 per academic year, so long as the scholarship requirements are met. Since its creation, Columbia College -_

"Read the note at the bottom." Brittany's eyes scrolled the page, identical to her own except for a caveat at the very end.

_We would like to feature your portfolio at the Promising Talent Gala, should you accept our offer. This event will display the work of other incoming visual arts freshmen who have shown willingness to take risks in their craft in addition to near flawless delivery in their respective fields. Your submission showed phenomenal prowess, unending maturity, and great potentiality for growth. Thank you again, and we sincerely hope you choose Columbia as your home for the next four years. _

"What was your portfolio?"

"You." She leaned off of the couch, pulling a binder from beneath the coffee table and placing it between them. She watched as the black and white photos she developed were flipped through by nimble fingers, the expressions on Brittany's face flickering between awe and unbelievable pride. There were photos from the lake, their first night in the apartment - bare skin, freckles, and all - and random weekend road trips they'd taken. The last photograph was one the blonde had not seen, or known was taken. Light filtering through the blinds, there, on black and white paper, stood her spine, defined shoulders, pooled sheets. Brittany barely breathed out her girlfriend's name as tears welled up in the corner of her eyes. "You're beautiful baby, and the rest of the world ought to be able to see that, even if they don't know you. One day, everyone will know your name and will be able to see how truly amazing you are. They'll see what I've known since day one, and hopefully, I'll be right there to say I told you so."

"Do you mean that?"

"You said forever. I plan on sticking to my end of the deal."

* * *

**AN: I'm sorry my updates have been more sporadic lately. Life caught up to me in a big way, with two weekends out of town, and an extremely beautiful girlfriend who requires my attentions. Haha. However, rest assured that I'll be trying to get back into the swing of things, as she reads this as dedicatedly as some of you do, and she'll want updates as well. **


	18. Chapter 18

"Lopez!" It wasn't often people referred to Santana by her last name alone. In fact, she couldn't remember a time that anyone had, and she certainly hadn't heard her name called out in the breathy voice trailing after her. She'd had a few drinks, but she knew she wasn't imagining it, so she turned around to face one blonde when she was in search of another.

She held the two red cups in front of her as if they were her only lifeline when she was met with hardened hazel eyes she was aware of, but unfamiliar with. She nodded, responded with the girl's last name as well, and attempted to brush past her to meet Brittany in the living room.

"Santana, please," she felt a small hand catch hold of her arm loosely and were it not for the tender, pleading quality of the Quinn's second declaration, she would have pulled out of her grip and continued walking. She, however, turned back to meet the eyes again and tilted her head to the side, silently encouraging the girl she barely knew to continue speaking. "Can we talk? Like, outside?"

"It's your house Fabray," she replied coolly, following the girl into the empty backyard, thankful she hadn't taken her jacket off as the cold bit through her.

* * *

Standing not far from a window overlooking the deck, another brunette watched the interaction - Santana lighting a cigarette and offering one to Quinn, who declined. She watched the blonde squirm, shuffling her feet and playing with her hands while the brunette listened on intently before resting a hand on her shoulder and pulling the girl toward her into a hug. Rachel rolled her eyes and huffed away, literally running into someone on her way to the kitchen to pull another wine cooler out of the fridge.

"Oh god, Brittany! I'm sorry," she squeaked, barely able to meet the girl's eyes.

"It's cool Rach, really. I was just looking for Santana. She came to make us drinks but then kind of disappeared."

"Oh." The blonde echoed her sentiment, however, with a gentle lilt upward at the end, questioning the girl's monosyllabic reply. "She's outside all cozy with Quinn."

Brittany's heart felt a flash of anger, combined with jealousy, before her mind flickered back to the charm bracelet she'd attached to her girlfriend's wrist earlier in the evening and the memory of her lovingly caressing the infinity charm attached. "Does that upset you?" she queried softly.

"Yes! No! I mean - " Rachel groaned, silently cursing her generally overbearing and immediate honesty, then cursing the alcohol gods as well for good measure, because it was public knowledge that any filter she contained while sober was lost and never to be recovered after exactly two and a half drinks.

"It shouldn't upset you, but it does." The brunette nodded meekly. "Because you love her, and you think she doesn't love you back," she stated matter of factly with a nod of her own, not looking for any confirmation from the tiny girl in front of her. "Just enjoy your night Rachel, and don't worry about it. I can assure you that nothing is going on between the two of them, okay?"

It wasn't everything she was looking for, but decided that believing Brittany was a lot less frustrating than delving back into cyclical thoughts of whether or not she was simply the beautiful, if closed off, blonde's play thing.

* * *

"So why don't you tell her?"

"I can't tell her!" she replied, eyes wide with shock, fear, and the lightest tinges of guilt. "Then I'd have to - "

"Admit that you're a raging, flannel loving, pussy eating lesbian that would love nothing more than spending your weekends at Home Depot?" Santana chuckled. "Learn how to play softball? Have a marathon of The L Word and worry about your life turning out to be like The Kids Are All Right complete with the gay porn? Chop off your hair and wear cargo shorts?"

Quinn nodded, her expression similar to the one Brittany had witnessed just moments before from the other half of the unlikely duo. The brunette in front of her simply shook her head, chortling slightly. "You don't have to do all of that Quinn. You actually don't have to do any of that. I mean, look at me. I'm not exactly the most pulled together chick, and I do on occasion wear flannel, but I'm not blasting Melissa Etheridge at all times. And Britts? Sure, she's got a soft spot for the Indigo Girls, and maybe she likes The Lion King because Elton John is gayer than a pack of naked cowboys riding unicorns in a pride parade, but you don't have to become your stereotype unless you choose to. There's nothing wrong with lady lovin', and it's no one's business but your own if that's what you're into. At the end of the day, it shouldn't matter who's in your bed if you're a good person, okay? And as for telling Rachel you want to be with her, really and truly _be with her_, in an "I actually appreciate your company for more than fulfilling my ravenous sexual needs" kind of way? That's also no one's business. As pushy and irritating as she can be sometimes, I think she'd get that you aren't ready to let your freak flag fly yet, you know, with the whole two dads thing. So grab hold of your lady balls and go get your woman."

Quinn had been surprisingly silent throughout the entirety of Santana's speech, and finally nodded at the end, letting out a shy smile before turning to go back into the house.

"And Fabray?" The blonde turned to meet gentle mocha eyes, wavering slightly. "Think about using your bedroom this time. It needs to be special, and while I'll deny it if you ever repeat this - Rachel deserves a little romance on your part. So when midnight rolls around, steal her away, give her a kiss to end all kisses, and send her upstairs. Start your new year the right way."

* * *

Her arms slip around her girlfriend's body as they watch a pair hesitantly head upstairs, both nearly shaking in fear for entirely opposite reasons. The countdown's begun, and Santana can't help but think that maybe every New Years could be like this, but better. She's imagining a year of watching the ball drop drinking cheap champagne in their first apartment once they start college, another when they've saved up enough to spend the first day of the new year in Times Square, surrounded by thousands of people they don't know who don't matter, and yet another, popping fireworks with friends and family, kids running around with sparklers and staring in wonder at the explosions of light in the sky. For someone who hates planning and routine and abhorred the idea of a nuclear family in her future, she finds herself relaxing back into Brittany's arms, sighing contentedly.

_Three._

She flips herself around, pulling up on her tiptoes to lean into Brittany's ear. "I wish every New Years could be this way."

_Two._

"I can't imagine anything better."

_One._

Their lips press together, and the celebration around them fades out. There's no longer a room full of classmates they barely know, or cheering as the ball drops, or cat calls from their male peers. There's no floor beneath them, no chill through the window, and no past or present, but in the sweetness of the kiss, in the languid way their tongues dance together, and in the warmth of their palms, there's a promise of a future. There's a promise of days to come, brighter and more spectacular than the fireworks exploding above them, signaling the beginning of something bigger than themselves, whether they recognize that or not.

* * *

_I hate mess but I love you; what to do with my impromptu baby?  
So be wise, 'cause this girl satisfies.  
You got a prize, but don't compromise - you're one lucky baby!_

As many times as she'd watched Santana practice, seeing her this time, in full costume and makeup with the lights emphasizing every minute aspect of her beauty, was intoxicating. The brunette wasn't shy, per se, but this confident, sexy woman in front of Brittany was so unlike any of the sides that she'd yet met of her girlfriend that she couldn't tear her eyes away from the performance. As the final pounding of the piano keys signaled her exit, she watched Santana stalk off toward the wings, still very much in character until strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her further offstage.

Brittany's lips quickly latched onto the girl's neck, murmuring along her hairline as her hands wandered. "God, that was so hot."

Santana simply giggled in response, trying to push her girlfriend away. "Britt, I've got to change into my next costume. I don't have that much time." The blonde sighed and nodded, releasing the girl's body. "Want to help?" she whispered, inspiring a quirked eyebrow and a smirk from Brittany before they went running through the backstage area, nearly knocking over everyone in the hallway in their mad dash to her dressing room.

It took all of her self-control not to rip the offending fabrics off of Santana as she alternated between kissing every spare inch of skin and skillfully unfastening every button and zipper on the brunette's body. It wasn't long before they were pressed against the dressing room door, effectively positioned so no one could walk in with Brittany's fingers working skillfully between caramel thighs. Just as Santana arched into the door, quivering and barely able to stand, they heard a knock from the other side, giving a five minute warning until she was needed back onstage. She called back that she'd be ready and pressed a kiss to Brittany's lips before turning to slip into her next costume. They walked out just minutes later, returning to the wings where they were met with a furious Rachel Berry.

"Where were you Santana? A show is dependent on all of its principal characters equally, and had your timing affected the outcome of the show, and potentially my future as a performing artist - " Warm arms wrapped around the small girl's waist and Quinn pressed a kiss to her shoulder, effectively calming her down some. Rachel took a deep breath before determining that a subject change was necessary. "Upon passing your dressing room, I heard what sounded like vocal warm ups, though I must admit, though your voice isn't at a comparable level to my own, these sounds were far from your usual admittedly good altitude. I could have offered my services."

Both blondes snickered quietly, each receiving a glare from the soprano, before Santana managed to form a coherent sentence. "I'm just not as sure of my voice as you are Rachel," she began, hoping she'd be able to continue with a straight face. "I'm more comfortable running _vocal warm ups_ with Britts, and while I thank you for offering your _services_, I'm not entirely sure Quinn would appreciate that," she finished with a wink in the girl's direction. The innuendos were not lost on anyone but the brunette, who huffed away, murmuring about the lack of appreciation for her talent and coaching before her girlfriend scurried after her.

Brittany fought back a chuckle before kissing Santana's temple and slapping her butt, sending her onstage to finish up the performance.

"Miss Pierce?" The blonde turned to meet the gaze of a middle aged woman, light brown hair pulled into a low bun, and warm honey eyes watching her intently. She nodded before turning her attention back to the stage, where the show was wrapping up. "Miss Pierce? I'd like to speak to you."

Reluctantly pulling her eyes away from her girlfriend's form, she turned back to the woman smiling and extended her arm for a handshake. "Brittany Pierce ma'am, and you are?"

"Linda Withers." The blonde crinkled her brow, unsure of who this woman was and how she'd managed to make it backstage. "I'm a choreographer. The head of your school's performing arts program is an old college friend, and I was invited to come and watch your opening night."

The majority of the confusion flashing across the younger woman's face diminished, and she nodded once more.

"Upon discovering it was you who envisioned the majority of the choreography for this show, my interest was piqued. Do you have plans for after graduation?"

A bright smile accompanied her third nod. "I'll be going to Columbia with my girlfriend - the Chicago campus."

"Anything else lined up?" A caramel hand enveloped Brittany's and began tugging her away for a bow, and she held up one finger on the other hand, asking the woman to wait until she returned. The curtains closed several minutes later, and the blonde was surprised when she returned backstage, hand in hand with Santana, to find the woman waiting patiently in the exact same place. "As I said before, anything else lined up?"

Santana tilted her head curiously in her girlfriend's direction, but received no recognition from Brittany, who shook her head at the woman.

"Wonderful. I was actually hoping when you two move, you'd be willing to give me a call. There are several internships I think you would be perfect for, possibly even working jobs in some of the productions I oversee. Do you think you'd be interested in that?"

Blue eyes widened, and Brittany nodded emphatically, thankful for the hand enclosing her own, preventing her from floating into the rafters of the auditorium out of sheer and unadulterated joy.

Linda turned toward Santana then, smiling softly. "And you Miss Lopez? You put on a hell of a show, I'll give you that." A light flush covered caramel cheeks as chocolate eyes stared steadily at her feet. "If you're ever interested in dabbling some in stage performance or musicals, please don't hesitate to give me a call." She handed a card to each of them before waving congenially and walking away as if this moment had been nothing out of the ordinary.

* * *

After a night of compliments and a bottle of champagne and a surprise of yellow roses waiting on her coffee table when she got home, Santana was gloriously happy. Ms. Puckerman had cried, sobbing again and again about how proud she was, and Holly had told her, with a wink, that she played a "surprisingly convincing lesbian," which led Puck to fits of laughter he couldn't control until he caught a kick to the skin. Brittany had slipped into the shower and Santana was curled up cozily in bed, awaiting her girlfriend's return.

Things were falling into place, something she hadn't ever imagined was possible. She had a family who loved her, a girlfriend who hadn't left no matter what baggage came with her. She had a place and people to call home, and she had plans for the future. It was more than she ever expected or even dared to hope for. So it was with a lazy smile that she reached across to her nightstand to grab her phone, seeing familiar numbers flash across the screen as she took in a very naked Brittany in her doorway, hair piled on top of her head and a mischievous smirk across her features.

"Hey Megan!" she quipped. "What's up?"

"Santana, he's out."

"Who's out?"

"Paul Walters. He was denied parole in August, but his lawyer requested another hearing, and he was released yesterday afternoon. I've called Nicholas Gibson, your lawyer from that case, and he wants to meet with you Monday afternoon, when you get out of classes, to start work on a restraining order."

Tears were welling up in her eyes, and she nodded, forcing out a choked "Okay." Brittany's smirk transformed into a frown as she settled onto the bed and pulled her girlfriend into her arms.

"Be extremely cautious this weekend Santana. I don't know if he knows where you live, or if he has any way to find out, but don't go anywhere on your own."

"Okay Megan. Thank you. I'll call Mr. Gibson's office Monday morning to confirm."

"Good night sweet girl. Try not to worry." They both hung up and Santana flopped backwards on the bed, her body bouncing gently against the bed as she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to quell the impending sobs from wracking her thin frame.

"I need you to call Puck Britts. We need him to stay here for the weekend. Brian's dad was released yesterday, and they think he's going to try and find me. Can you call him, please?" Her voice cracked at the end of her sentence, her chest heavy, her head light, and her breathing uneven. Brittany nodded, reaching across the brunette to retrieve her phone when she heard banging on the door.

Even from their place upstairs, near the back of the apartment, a male voice could be heard clearly. "Open the fucking door you bitch!"

"Call Puck, and call the police. Now Britt."

* * *

**AN: A little bit of everything (fluff, tinges of smut, angst, and humor) for you guys. I'll probably start working on the next chapter tonight or tomorrow morning, so let me know what you're thinking, and if you have suggestions as to how the plot line should be play out, let me know.**

Also, if there's something you'd like to see more or less of, let me know. As far as Faberry, it was nice as a filler, but this chapter was the most that you will see of them. I just had a really good time with the Quintana conversation, haha. :)

Thank you lovely readers, and I hope you enjoyed!


	19. Chapter 19

The street lights seemed dimmed and the sprinkling of stars were barely visible despite the late hour. A chill fluttered through the night air, perpetuating the already freezing temperatures of January, but still, Brittany stood on the balcony, arms wrapped around her girlfriend, pulling her tight to her chest trying to control the trembling of her limbs. Both phones sat just feet away, one with three outgoing calls, the other with a text to Megan that was yet unanswered.

Something that had happened so long ago had suddenly become achingly real again. Rough hands across her abdomen, scruff against her cheeks, tearing at the thin facade of strength she'd projected. Santana felt as though she were in the nightmares she'd so often been brought back to in sleep, the only difference being that this nightmare was very much a part of her conscious, and waking up would do nothing to keep her safe.

_After all that you put me through  
You'd think I'd despise you_

"What's taking them so long?" she whimpered, burying her face further into Brittany's chest, the slender fingers running through her hair the only tangible sensation in the moment. Her phone lit up, vibrating against the table not too far from the girls, and she rushed to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Santana, are you aware that there is some crazy mother fucker banging on your door at midnight?" Despite herself, a choked laugh burst from her throat. "I was watching The Golden Girls with Charlie, and I can't hear Blanche over his incessant fucking yelling. Would it do any good to go outside and beat him with my cane?"

Just across the hall lived an elderly woman, very much the stereotypical cat lady, who often invited the couple over for dinner with her and her cat, Charlie. The woman's penchant for swearing like a sailor allowed a sense of familiarity to seep into Santana's bones, calming her slightly. She chuckled again, shaking her head. "Stay inside Mrs. Taylor. Britts called the cops and my brother, and he should be gone soon, so you and Charlie can go back to Rose and Sylvia, okay?" The woman grumbled at the girl's refusal of her cane beating, but consented after reassuring the young woman that if necessary, she would be more than happy to take out a knee cap or two.

Placing the phone down, Santana fell into the overstuffed white chair just inside of the balcony, nerves rekindling within her body. Her eyes quickly glazed over in a near catatonic state, each simple rocking motion ripping at Brittany's heartstrings as the girl moved back and forth in time with the loud pounding of both the blonde's heart and the incessant fist on wood. The banging ceased momentarily before returning, more forcefully. "Lima P.D."

The blonde turned to her girlfriend and seeing that she was in no state to answer the door, turned to make her way downstairs.

"Don't leave me," Brittany heard, just over a whisper.

"Then come with me. I have to let the police in baby."

"I can't go down there. _He's _down there. Every nightmare and bruise and ounce of self-hatred I had for myself is just down those stairs. I can't Britt."

_You probably think that I hold resentment for you_

Crossing the room quickly, she knelt down in front of the quivering brunette, placing a firm palm on each of her bare thighs, trying to hold back tears when the girl flinched slightly. "What have I always told you? I'm not going to let him hurt you. I'm not ever going to let him hurt if there is anything in the world I can do to prevent it." She slowly extended one hand, waiting carefully until Santana intertwined their fingers to tug her towards the continued banging, calling out that they were coming to the officer on the other side of the thick wooden door.

_I wouldn't know just how capable  
I am to pull through _

Unlocking the dead bolt, the two were faced with a scene that would have been comical were it any other night and any other situation. Mrs. Taylor stood just outside her doorway, tapping her cane with a smirk on her face as she watched the police struggle against two men in the hallway. The officer closest to them was leaning against the door frame, pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering _rookies _again and again under his breath. The two additional uniformed men each held someone back, and despite the men's best efforts, neither of the captives could do much more than hurl insults and attempt to perfect their best death glares.

"You fucking sick bastard!" Puck's face bore nothing but rage though his flailing limbs had calmed. Twisting his head over one shoulder, he addressed the officer that had him by the arms. "I'm not going to do anything, I swear. You can shoot me if I do. Just let me go to her. Let me go to my sister, please."

The supervisor shrugged to the rookie allowing Puck to run across the hallway, scooping Santana into his arms. He ran a hand over the back of her head, repeating the same mantra Brittany had into her hair. Her hands clutched desperately at the back of his t-shirt as she finally broke, knees buckling and sobs constricting her chest. All three cops turned away out of respect, but Paul stood tall, smirking at the reaction he'd managed to provoke without saying a word.

_You thought I would forget  
But I remembered_

"Britt, take her inside please." The blonde quirked an eyebrow, but gave in, wrapping a strong arm around her girlfriend's waist, folding Santana into her arms when the two sank into the couch cushions, the smaller girl fiddling with her charm bracelet. "Officer, I'd appreciate if you'd escort him off the premises, first of all. Second, I'd appreciate if the escorting that you do leads him into custody, but I'm not going to nit-pick on that."

"Son, I'm sorry, but all we can have him for is disturbing the peace, and that's simply a fine. He wasn't doing anything that warranted an arrest." Only the potentiality of assault charges on his record kept Puck from lunging for the man in front on him, smirk permanently plastered across his features.

"Actually," he turned to address the man still held back by the third officer, "_Paul_. Can I call you Paul?" His condescending tone did not go unnoticed, nor did the hints of well-controlled anger as Brittany listened as best she could. "I'm fairly sure that it's a violation of your parole to attempt to contact Santana," he continued, tapping his chin with his second finger, returning the self-satisfied grin the man had been wearing. "Am I right about that one?"

_Makes me that much stronger  
Makes me work a little bit harder  
It makes me that much wiser  
So thanks for making me a fighter_

The man made an attempt to pull himself from the strong arms restraining him, and Puck tutted, waggling a finger at him. "I wouldn't do that _Paul, _because then it might seem like you're fighting the kind officers here. Obstruction of justice on top of a parole violation? Goodness. You'll be away for at least another few years." He leaned into the doorway, watching as Paul's rights were read before stepping in front of him, their noses mere inches from each other. "If you so much as look at my sister again, you won't have to answer to the police. I will hunt you down and I will kill you with my bare hands, do you hear me? She's so much stronger and more beautiful than you could ever know, and I'm not going to let some asshole steal from her the life she's built for herself."

Paul sneered at the young man in front of him as his hands were roughly constrained by cuffs. "Is that a threat _Noah_?"

"It's a fucking promise."_  
_  
_It's over  
'Cause if it wasn't for all of your torture  
I wouldn't know how to be this way now and never back down  
So I wanna say thank you_

* * *

"Should she move to another complex?"

"That shouldn't be necessary Ms. Puckerman. The apartment manager will be installing a security system outside of the building so that anyone wishing to enter will have to put in their pass-code. Additionally, we spoke to the other tenants, to have them on the lookout for Mr. Walters. We actually spoke to a rather lively older woman who lives across the hall - "

Brittany cracked a grin as her girlfriend giggled at her side. "Did Mrs. Taylor offer to beat him with her cane again?"

Her attorney returned the smile, nodding. "The restraining order will go through the necessary channels this week, and we'll have it expedited so that it will be in effect as soon as possible. We've also elected to have the order extended to Mr. Walters' son, Brian, just as a precaution."

"And until then?" the woman questioned. "Can he get to my baby girl?" Santana placed a firm hand over her foster mother's, squeezing gently in reassurance.

"Mr. Walters is in custody currently, and will remain there until his court date three weeks from Wednesday, to discuss his parole violation. In the event that he evades the conviction, we will have the restraining order already in effect, and if he does end up returning to prison, his son will still be bound by the order. You haven't anything to worry about Ms. Puckerman. Santana is in good hands, I see that, and we want the best for her just as much as you do."

"I'll be fine Mama P. I promise. Puck already threatened the guy within an inch of his life," she chuckled, recalling her brother's heroics Friday night. The older woman turned to glare at her son but was met with a sheepish grin that immediately softened her features.

"The only thing I must warn you about is after graduation. As I hear it, you both have a full scholarship to Columbia, yes?" he queried, gesturing towards the two girls. "When you move to Chicago, we will have to get in contact with someone there to ensure that a restraining order is placed in Illinois as well, as the one we are working on currently only has jurisdiction in Ohio. I don't want that to be a concern now though. We will cross that bridge when we come to it. So for now, enjoy the rest of your school year, and if anything arises, I'll contact both you and your foster mother, okay Santana?"

* * *

"When in my life am I ever going to use the quadratic formula? Who gives a shit what X is equal to?" The girl huffed, flopping face down into her open math book. "I mean, I know when someone asks me what inspired my photographs, I'll be sure to turn around and tell them that I saw the beauty of the Pythagorean Theorem in your freckles."

Brittany placed a hand over her heart, feigning tear-filled eyes. "I think that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me," she gushed, earning a smack on her thigh from the girl beside her, cheek still plastered to the textbook pages beneath her.

"You suck," she replied, emphasizing each other.

The blonde quirked her eyebrows, head propped up on her hand, elbow bent and resting on the bed. "I lick, and you love it."

"Must you make everything inadvertently sexual?"

Brittany considered the question before nodding. "Yes. Especially when you're rocking the sexy librarian look, working out complex equations and using five syllable words," she teased, fingering her girlfriend's glasses.

"Well then, in that case - antidisestablishmentarianism."

"So hot," she whispered in response, a lopsided grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she pressed Santana back onto the bed, pushing their books out of the way.

"And," the brunette bit her lip after dragging the word out, "."

"Unbelievably sexy," Brittany joked back, leaving hot, open mouthed kisses along the girl's collarbone.

"," she whispered between giggles, barely able to get the word out.

"Now you're just teasing me," she murmured into Santana's neck, continuing her trail into her hair line.

"Then stop teasing _me_," she admonished, pulling Brittany's hips into her own and skillfully rolling them upward. "Pre-calc can wait."

* * *

**AN: I apologize for the gap between updates. I've been fighting a bit of writer's block recently. Plot wise, I realize there isn't much to go on, but the Paul situation needed to be resolved for the moment, and I figured you guys deserved a bit of fluff there at the end.**

Reviews and suggestions are always welcome. Hope you enjoyed!


	20. Chapter 20

At eleven, Santana had developed one of the most common phobias known to humanity - a debilitating fear of the dark. It was the fear of the unknown, or rather a fear of the known standing on the edge of the unknown that crawled underneath her skin like a thousand spiders tickling her muscles and making her hairs stand on end. Worse than losing power or having light switches flicked off was the knowledge that she could only fight against the dark for so long before her eyelids would involuntarily flutter closed, capturing her in the blackest night she could exist within. There, even more so than in a room with no light, sat the hopes and dreams that seemed too far from reach, coupled with the nightmares that were too close for comfort. That's why she'd chosen her apartment - the French doors in her bedroom allowed just enough light in to sooth her pounding heart and calm her shaking limbs. The fear still lay there, however, dormant, until she'd found a dark she was in love with.

Her fingers skillfully popped the top of the film canister, using the bottle cap attached to the small table in the closet of the dark room. She ripped the the casing from around her film, gently pulling it from its confines and tucking into its place on the wheel resting just to her left. She slowly wound the film in circles, occasionally checking for potential bubbles that could ruin the entire roll before tucking it into a metal canister with a light sealing black top. She'd been practicing this for the majority of the year, and still, her heart raced until her fingers touched the hardened shell of her film, easing her into a hazy lull as her hands acted of their own accord, the motions now second nature.

Moving toward the sink in the hallway, she squinted, the bright lights such a contrast to the closet she'd been buried within that she sneezed a few times, cursing when she finally straightened up. She heard a giggle just over her shoulder and attempted to twist around to glare at the person before she felt arms wrap around her waist and a head tuck itself incredibly close to her neck.

"I love watching you do this."

"I don't see why. I figure it would be boring for you."

She felt Brittany shake her head into her neck, watching as Santana's hands moved on autopilot, consistently pouring various liquids into a spout at the top of the canister and leaving them for the several minutes she spent attached to the blonde's lips. She would soften the film with water, develop it, flipping the canister over and over and leaving a stream of pink to flow out upon finishing. She ran through the rest of the steps quickly, finally relaxing when her film was being washed a last time.

"What is this assignment anyway? I don't remember you mentioning anything."

"Nothing serious - just candids," she brushed off, as she flicked her wrist to remove the remaining droplets of water off of the rolls before tucking it into the dryer at the far end of the lab. "I've been working on the roll for a while. Apparently everyone has a sixth sense when I have a camera in my hands, so getting candid shots was a little more difficult than I originally anticipated."

"I'm sure your shots turned out wonderfully, as per usual," a gentle voice said from behind them, both girls turning on the spot, Brittany wrapping her arms further around her girlfriend innately.

Santana felt the creeping blush covering her cheeks, averting her eyes for a second to regroup before meeting her teacher's soft gaze. "Britt, this is my photography teacher, Ms. Sonnier and - " She caught a glimpse of a little boy hiding just behind her, gripping her long skirt as if it were his only lifeline.

"My son, Tommy." She breathed out a laugh before turning to her son, patting him gently on the backside and sending him off in the other direction. She moved smoothly across the floor, extending her hand to the blonde's and shaking it once firmly. "I've heard and seen quite a lot of you Brittany. It's wonderful to finally get to meet you."

While the two exchanged more pleasantries, Santana removed her film from the dryer, setting it across the light board to snip into rows of five negatives before slipping it into clear protective sheets, analyzing each shot.

"Babe?" Both Santana and her teacher turned automatically and called back an affirmation before catching the other's gaze and chuckling slightly. "Tommy's getting a little antsy. Did you get everything you need?" The petite brunette looked up and locked on grey eyes, one of which was almost hidden by the jet black bangs swooped across a strikingly angular face. She took in the long frame, clearly muscular but not overly so, noting dark washed jeans, and a form fitting button down rolled at the sleeves, revealing a sleeve tattoo that wandered down, stopping just at the wrist. "Hi, I'm Danielle," she stated, once they'd finished eyeing each other. "I'm assuming you're Santana. Mollie mentions your work quite a lot; any way I could take a look?"

The girl nodded dumbly, internally kicking herself for not calibrating her decidedly inept gaydar skills._ Ms. Sonnier, really? Who would have guessed that one? _

The teacher had a habit of leaving a section of the wall that was originally covered on the first day of school for each student. Santana walked straight across, pointing out a few of her pieces, giving a little story for each while both Brittany and Danielle listened raptly. The blonde had heard each story at least once, but the light in her girlfriend's eyes when she'd speak about her work was more than enough to keep her attention. She gently squeezed Santana's hand as the older woman analyzed each photograph, finally pointing out one near the center, the one of Brittany's bare back pooled in light.

"That is truly breathtaking," she breathed out.

"It's my favorite," the blonde echoed, wrapping her arms tightly around her girlfriend's waist, resting her head on the bare caramel shoulder as her eyes continued flitting around the photographs she knew so well they could practically be her own.

Mollie had managed to sneak back into the room, Tommy in tow, before voicing her agreement. "You ready to go Dani?" The smile she received in return was so much like the one Santana found Brittany shooting her way often that she couldn't help but feel a sense of deja vu. The woman nodded and both waved before exiting the photo lab with their son between them.

* * *

"They're seniors, right honey?" she inquired, holding out a glass of red wine to her partner.

Mollie nodded, taking a generous sip from the glass. "From what I've heard from Santana, they'll both be going to Columbia next year on full tuition scholarships. She's already been scouting apartments for them."

"They'll be living together? Isn't that a bit soon?" She secured her wine glass in between her legs after settling on the couch, reaching back to massage a kink out of her shoulder, courtesy of their son's love for piggy back rides across the park.

"Well they'll have been together for over a year by then, at least, because the first day of school, Santana mentioned her girlfriend. And you know lesbians babe - bring a U-Haul to the second date, right?" she quipped with a wink, inspiring a throaty chuckle from her wife. "Besides, I seem to remember someone else falling fast and hard for a burgeoning young photographer back in the day."

"Completely different," she frowned, looking into her glass as if it held the answers to the girls' futures. The two had met in college, well over ten years ago, in an art class - VIAR 345: Appreciation of the Human Form. Mollie had spent a semester sketching and painting various body parts until halfway through the semester, when a live model was brought in. Alabaster skin, long dark hair, and a sleeve tattoo of lotus blossoms, coy fish, and Latin quotes drew her in immediately, the confidence of the woman in front of her intoxicating at best. Walking into class the next afternoon, she'd found a number clipped to her assigned easel, bearing seven numbers and _Usually I wait until after dinner for a girl to see me naked, but if you're willing to make an exception, then so am I_. "So did you book the hotel?"

Avoiding her wife's gaze, Mollie nodded. "The rooms are set."

"Rooms?" she queried, putting an emphasis on the last letter. "As in multiple? Plural?"

"Quick on the uptake tonight, aren't we Dani?" she giggled. "I was thinking about asking Brittany and Santana if they'd want to join us." Her wife eyed her incredulously. "I'm serious. They won't be my students anymore, so there's no repercussions, and I doubt either of them have been to something like that. The school's counselor talked to me about Santana recently, to keep an eye on her. She was a victim of a hate crime when she was thirteen, so only recently has she truly come out, and I think it would be good for her."

Danielle finally nodded in resignation, wrapping an arm around her wife's shoulders and tugging her closer. "You are so lucky I love you."

* * *

Santana couldn't figure out which she hated more - intense cold or extreme heat. All she knew at this point was that she was cursing the snowflakes hurtling down from the grey skies of January, that she was extremely late to work because of road closures, and that she needed a fucking cup of coffee. She'd already texted the office saying she would be in as soon as possible, but rather than taking a right, she turned left at the next intersection and into the drive-thru of the Lima Bean, ordering a grande mocha latte, pulling around to be met with hazel eyes and a shy smile.

"Your coffee will be out in just a second. We've been having trouble with the machines today, of all days. Everyone in Lima seems to want coffee once something's broken, you know?"

She knew. After two years in the caffeinated shop, she knew good and well that anytime they were out of something, everyone decided they wanted it and if the espresso machine was on the fritz, everyone wanted an extra shot.

"No worries. I've actually got something for you though," she suddenly remembered. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she dug through her bag on the floor, pulling a pristine sheet of paper and thrusting it out of her car window. The hazel eyes fell upon two figures in the photograph, staring at one another longingly from across the room. There were at least a dozen other people in the frame, but your eyes immediately fall to the two girls.

"This is - how did you get this?"

"I took it," she questioned, with a slight intonation before laughing. "I was working on a project for my photo class, a candid series, and I had my camera at the New Year's party. I made an extra print for you, and I can make one for Rachel, if you think she'd want it."

Quinn nodded quickly, smiling shyly once more before handing the steaming mocha to the brunette and mouthing "It's on the house."

* * *

"Dr. Howell, do you have a second?" Santana rushed as he passed by on his way to his 3:15 appointment in exam room two.

"Sure thing sweet lips; for you, I've got _two_seconds. What's up?" The women in the office all fawned over his devil-may-care good looks and sweet talking, but to her, he'd always seemed to be a teddy bear kind of guy - a tamer version of Holly.

"I need to request off Friday, two weeks from now."

"Big plans for your lady friend that require an additional day of Valentine's planning?" he winked. "I'm totally down with romantic gestures." I pulled a sheet of paper showing flight confirmations and his eyes widened. "You know, I may not be a _real_doctor," he grinned, using air quotes, "but I was actually thinking that you look like you might be coming down with something. Are you sure you aren't going to be sick in two weeks? Because you know, then you could have a paid sick day."

She mirrored his smile, internally, and embarrassingly enough, externally fist pumping her luck. With a chuckle, he stepped out of the reception area and Santana went right back to rememorizing the flight details, down to the seat and gate numbers until the phone rang.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Howell's office. This is Santana, how may I help you?" She listened to the woman on the office end of the phone before huffing softly and rolling her eyes. "No sir, we do not do cat teeth cleanings." I paused, grimacing at his accusatory tone. "We aren't a vet's office sir. That would be unethical, probably illegal, and just plain gross. Mhm. You have a good afternoon."

Santana heard stifled laughter behind her and twisted her chair to face her foster mother. "I don't think that's what Ms. Henrietta had in mind when she told you to be more courteous on the phone honey."

"It's not my fault that bath salt zombies have more logical brains than the people that call here."

The older woman noted the paper still clutched in her right hand, and edged it away from carefully. "So it's all confirmed?" Santana nodded, smiling brightly. "You found one? Let me see."

She pulled the photos up on the desk computer, outlining every detail of her discovery, and Ms. Puckerman nodded her approval over the girl's shoulder. "She'll love it Santana. I'm sure of it."

* * *

She slipped back into a warm bed room, placing the two steaming cups of coffee on her bedside table before shedding her layers and pressing a cold kiss to the blonde's temple, rousing her instantly.

"Where'd you go?" she murmured, fighting against the grey light filling the room.

"To see my parents. It would have been my dad's forty second birthday today." With those words, Brittany shifted in bed, tugging Santana down to meet her, and wrapping warm arms around the girl's shivering body. They lay there silently for a while, leading the brunette to rehash the conversation she'd held at the gravesite earlier that morning.

_The grass crunched beneath her booted feet, a simple bouquet clutched tightly in her left hand. She settled in front of a conjoined tomb stone, laying the flowers in the middle of the two names carved into the granite._

_"Feliz cumpleanos Papi," she whispered, settling down onto the slightly damp grass as she always had. "I know I haven't been here in a while, but after this, I'll come back soon - for Mami's birthday." She looked down at the hands resting in her lap. "I miss you so much," she breathed out, fighting the tears she knew would come. "Especially now, because - well, because I met someone. It was last summer, and dios mio Papi, she's beautiful."_

_A shuddering sigh filled her, and she fought against her tears even harder. "I wish you could have met her. You would have loved her as much as I do." She broke into a slight smile, thinking back to a day ten years ago. "Do you remember the fourth of July fair you brought me to, when I was eight? Your back was bothering you, and Mami was scared of heights, but I was determined to ride the biggest rollercoaster there - to prove I was brave. The attendant made me sit next to a teenager, who held my hand the whole time and would squeeze it when I got scared." She laughed, recalling the next part of the story. "When we got off, she ruffled my hair, kissed my head, and told me I was the cutest thing she'd ever seen. That was the day you nudged my shoulder and whispered, so Mami couldn't hear, that you knew I'd have it bad for blondes. Even back then, you both knew, and you both loved me anyway, and God, I just wish you were still here, so you could see for yourself that I'm okay - that I'm better than okay."_

_She worried her hands and bit at her bottom lip before continuing, the urge to cry coming stronger with every word. "Her name is Brittany, Papi. She's a dancer, and so talented it's unbelievable. It's her dancing that made me able to sing again. She's the reason I can. And I know I'm young, I do, but I think she's it for me Papi. I think she's the one I'm going to be with forever, and that's scary. I thought you and Mami would always be here, but after the accident, it's been so hard to let people in, because it feels like they'll leave too, one way or another." She knew she was rambling, but letting out everything that had been kept under lock and key in her head was more than cathartic. "I fought it initially. I tried to convince myself that I should just walk away - that I should just ignore her. I couldn't. She somehow got past all of my walls and insecurities, and I fell in love with her. I fell in love with her so quickly."_

_"You remember when you said the first moment you saw Mami, you just __knew somehow? I only saw a glimpse of her the first time we spoke - her hair - and I felt something in my heart tug. I needed to be closer to her. I needed to know her. So, I wanted you to know that someday, though not anytime soon, I'm going to give her Mami's ring, and I'm going to marry that girl - that beautiful, enigmatic girl." She paused for a second, laughing to herself. "And if you think it's a stupid idea, or you know something I don't, feel free to strike me down with lightening before I do it."_

_She sat quietly for a while, the early morning air cutting through her coat, before getting up to dust off her jeans. "Te amo Papi. Y tu tambien Mami."_

Santana snuggled backwards into the warmth that was her girlfriend, fighting both the shivers of the less than vacation ready weather and the chills of the memory of the conversation. Brittany said nothing, simply pulling her closer with the arm wrapped around Santana's waist. She pressed a barely there kiss to a caramel shoulder and murmured an _I love you_.

* * *

**AN: Extra long chapter for you beautiful people to make up for the fact that I've been horrible with updates recently. Haha.  
I really hope you enjoyed this chapter (feel free to tell me one way or the other) because I'm pleased with how it turned out.**

Any guesses as to where these trips will take our girls? Or to whom? Or what event perhaps? ;) Haha.  
You'll find out the trip Santana has planned (as well as what her "discovery" was) next chapter, while the second trip will be further down the story line, though it may be brought up again before then.

As for the chapter on the whole, I know for the most part, it seems somewhat like a filler, but it sets up a few different plot lines, and I felt like the story really needed to be fleshed out emotionally. 


	21. Chapter 21

A knock on the front door pulled the slender blonde from her stirring, and glancing at the clock - 6:34 - she arched an eyebrow. It was a Monday night and she certainly wasn't expecting anyone. The girls had elected to move their weekly dinner to the evening prior, so Brittany could take full advantage of the campus studio after hours to work on her midterm piece. She wiped her hands clean on the back of her pants, heading toward the entryway and opening the front door to be met with a shivering brunette with a scowl plastered across her face.

"It's cold as tits Holly. You couldn't have moved a little faster?"

"Oh, so you're not just happy to see me?" she quipped with a smirk, earning a scoff and a pair of eyes rolled to the ceiling. Holly's overt remarks to her covert pseudo-lesbianism of the past no longer phased Santana, though the comments still managed to leave Brittany flushing furiously and covering her face with her hands.

Santana pushed her way into the doorway before turning over a shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Given that you and Brittany share the same genes, I don't feel bad about admitting that you're a total Milf Holls, but I think I'll stick with the younger generation of the Pierce women." She continued into the kitchen, eyeing the bubbling pot on the back burner. "Smells good," she nodded, taking in a deep breath of the vegetable soup simmering.

"You staying for dinner? You know Britt is in the studio, right?"

"Yeah, I just left over there. I came to talk to you actually. I'm hijacking your daughter this weekend," she said flippantly. "Figured you'd wanna know if I was planning on taking her across the state line."

Holly shrugged and nodded, probably more trusting than she should be of her teenage daughter. She did, however, let a lone worry cross her mind - a worry she didn't hesitate to voice. "Santana?" The much more serious tone in her voice caught the brunette's attention immediately, and she stopped stirring (and sneaking spoonfuls from the pot) to meet the older woman's eyes. "You aren't proposing, are you? Because I mean, I love you and everything but - "

Santana smacked her hand against her forehead and sighed exasperatedly. "I knew I was forgetting something. I've been so focused on trying to knock her up - remarkably unsuccessful in my attempts, by the way - that I completely forgot that I'm supposed to put a ring on it first. First love, then marriage, then the carriage, right? I always get the last two mixed up." The reproaching glare she received made it clear that as lighthearted as she'd attempted to keep this conversation, Holly wasn't joking - at all, not even a little. "No, Holls. I have no intention of proposing anytime soon." She couldn't help but grin at the deep breath the blonde let out, relaxing visibly. "You ought to give me a bit more credit though. I'd ask for your blessing first."

"I just worry, Santana. I don't want you both to get so caught up in the future that you forget to enjoy your time now, as teenagers."

"I understand, I do. I'm not going to kid myself into thinking that we're ready to settle down with a mortgage and children right now. We need a few years of living, really _living_, before I could think about that. Do I want to marry your daughter? Absolutely. Am I delusional enough to propose in high school? Absolutely not."

She's not going to lie and say she hasn't thought about it, because clearly she has. She's thought about a house, and a dog, and a few mini-Brittanys running around, spilling juice on her carpets, having pillow fights on the brand new sectional they've bought, and waking up at two in the morning with nightmares. She's allowed herself to hope for positive pregnancy tests, 9-5 salaries, and the wedding of her dreams. But the bottom line in all of that wishing is that if this woman has managed to create all of these feelings within her, feelings she'd buried when she buried her parents, then she's not going to rush things and potentially screw it up, no matter how loudly her heart screams forever.

"And I've changed my mind. I'm totally staying for dinner."

Maybe their relationship is unconventional - and maybe, just maybe, unconventional is an understatement when Santana can easily switch conversations with her girlfriend's mother from current events to sex toys to how she'd rather have a maltese instead of a golden retriever - but sitting in the living room, Legally Blonde playing on TBS for the third time this week as they slurp soup simultaneously, Santana recognizes an odd, yet seemingly familiar feeling. It's one she's been feeling more and more often lately, not quite butterflies, more like fuzziness, and unexpected warmth. After she tucks her scarf into her pea coat, kisses Holly on the cheek, and settles into her car for the short drive home, it hits her. It's a feeling of home.

* * *

"So how's your piece coming Britts?"

"Not that I don't appreciate the underlying kinkiness of all of this - " Santana's eyebrows disappeared into her hair, but she managed to keep her hands on the wheel, gripping tightly, and her eyes boring straight ahead at the road in front of her. " - but small talk is awkward enough without being blindfolded. Can you just tell me where we're going?"

The pause in conversation was enough to make Brittany think that perhaps her girlfriend was considering divulging something - anything - but then a smirk, one she couldn't see on account of the whole _blindfolded _thing, twisted across the brunette's lips. "Nope."

"Santana," she whined out. "You're afraid of the dark. Couldn't you be just the tiniest bit sympathetic to my plight?" She heard the distinct clicking of the Jeep's blinker, and felt them take a sharp right onto a curving road, slowing down considerably from the well-over-the-limit, breakneck speed they'd been taking down the highway moments before.

"But we're here. Kind of. Telling you would have ruined everything."

"How can we be kind of - " The silk scarf pressing against her eyelids was removed, and she blinked several times against the light, her pupils protesting silently.

"Our flight is in an hour. We need to check in and go through security and everything, so come on!" The grin coloring her features was bright, brighter than Brittany could remember it ever being. The smile didn't distract the blonde entirely, however, and she took note of the absentminded fingering of the infinity charm dangling from her girlfriend's wrist.

"I don't have - "

"Holly and I packed your things earlier this week."

"Why would you spend - "

"Because I love you. Any more questions? Because I'd really like to be able to get on this plane and see the brilliant smile my beautiful girlfriend is sure to shoot my way when she realizes how awesome I am at planning surprises."

* * *

Her steps were shaky as the two climbed up yet another flight of stairs. Brittany had lost count at this point, and having been blindfolded as soon as they got in the rental car, all she knew is she was walking up steps in Chicago. Lots and lots of Chicago steps.

Her girlfriend's shaking hands did nothing to calm her nerves, nor did the strangled _Yes, I'm fine_responses she got every time she inquired if Santana were all right. Her legs were met with flat, stable ground, and she took refuge in the few moments her leg muscles could rest before heading up what seemed to be endless staircases. Santana's fingers released her hips, and left her standing, completely blind and alone. She could hear the footsteps walking away, and what sounded suspiciously like the jangling of keys, but she knew better than to assume they were in a hotel. A door to her left squeaked open, and warm hands enveloped her own, tugging her forward and away from the Mount Everest set of stairs she'd conquered. A thump behind her indicated Santana kicking the door shut with her foot, a habit she'd had for years, and Brittany felt the knot on the silk scarf being tugged undone, but when it hit the floor, her eyes remained tightly shut.

"Can I peek yet?"

Two slender arms wrapped around her, and she felt Santana nod into her back. "Please do." The room they were standing in was flooded with light. Brittany squinted gently, adjusting once again to a sudden change from the darkness she'd spent a good portion of this trip quelled behind. Twinkling lights overtook an entire side of the room, and she felt as if she took just a few steps forward, she could fall straight into the Milky Way. She tugged out of Santana's arms, intertwining their fingers and moving in the direction of the bright city lights sprawled out before her.

"Where are we? What is this place?" She'd experienced magic before, in simple things - first kisses, and shooting stars - but the wonder in front of her was incomparable to those things.

"Well, we were in the foyer, but since you, ever so adventurous, decided you wanted to explore, we're now in the living room."

"Who's living room?" Her eyebrows were knit together as she whipped her head around to face dark eyes, twinkling on their own easily, without necessary aid from the lights surrounding them.

Santana's voice was barely a whisper, and she couldn't hold Brittany's gaze for more than a moment when she answered. "Ours."

* * *

_AN: I've been terrible about updating recently, and I apologize. I'm also sorry for such a short chapter, but I'm hoping to have another one up within the next few days, finishing up their Valentine's trip to Chicago._

If there's anything you want to see more or less of, or any constructive criticism you want to throw my way, please don't hesitate to leave a review. :) Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	22. Chapter 22

"Ours?" she echoed, disbelief tingeing her words.

Santana backpedaled quickly, hoping that the gesture wasn't diametrically opposite her intent to not rush things. An engagement was too soon, but how had it not occurred to her that perhaps an apartment, six months before they were due to leave for Chicago was any less rushed? "I - I mean - I'm going to rent it, and if you wanted to stay, you could, like how things are now, but like, every night." It was as close to a statement as she could stutter out, and the end still managed to lilt gently upwards in questioning. "And most of your clothes could be here, and like, your stuff too, if you want." It took all of her willpower to not smash her head repeatedly into the nearest wall. She wasn't one to fumble over her words, and she certainly wasn't one to care about other's responses. The slender blonde in front of her had converted her into a shaky, insecure, train wreck of the woman she used to be - the woman she thought she had always wanted to be. Her walls were knocked down, crumbled at her feet, and her heart was beating so loudly in her head that she could barely hear Brittany's words when she was deigned with a response.

"So this apartment would be ours? Like, living together ours? As in I would get to wake up next to you every morning, fall asleep with you every night, and try and teach you how to cook ours? Walk to classes together ours? Have friends over for dinner parties _ours_?" Santana nodded meekly, tugging lightly on her charm bracelet and refusing to meet Brittany's gaze.

"I understand if it's too soon, or you don't want - " Her words were skillfully cut off by a searing kiss, and arms wrapped around her not an instant too soon, as the combination of nerves, relief, and Brittany, Brittany, Brittany had her knees ready to give out beneath her.

"It's perfect. _You _are perfect," she breathed into the brunette's hairline after pulling away several moments later.

Santana bit back a scoff. She was far from perfect, and well aware of it. Through hell and back, any semblance of normalcy she'd possessed was lost. She couldn't think of anyone more imperfect, but after years of fighting, she'd come to accept that. Now, it was a matter of working out the fact that despite her shortcomings, her flaws, and her innate ability at screwing things up pretty spectacularly, Brittany loved her, for all that she was. If her imperfections seemed anything but, the blonde was unaware, or unwilling to see them as such.

* * *

_Perfection is idealization at its core. There are too many variables in our world for one true definition to be tangible for everyone. From far off, many things seem perfect, or come close enough, even when you're standing within them, to hold a facade of perfection. There are ideas of beauty, which have been fought, time and time again, now showing flaws as perfect in their imperfection. There are bulls eyes and ratios and masterpieces, but human nature is inherently imperfect._

_There is no guarantee that you may do something correctly, in the exact same way, every time. There are moments within moments where you may catch grasp of a minute particle of perfection, but just as quickly as you've happened upon it, it slips away, as it should._

_Therefore, we find beauty in flaws. We find creation in destruction. We search out methods to transform what is seen as not-quite-right, or simply not enough, and we mold it, change it, figure it into our own definitions of perfect. When someone who's struggled with self-esteem has been told they are beautiful? There's a particle of perfection in the words. When worlds have been bombed, showered in bullets, rampaged by tsunamis or earthquakes or hurricanes, and come back, fighting for what is rightfully theirs to rebuild? There's a shred of perfection tempered into every motion that brings back what was. When two seemingly broken, battered, and emotionally bruised people fall together, into a mutual, cataclysmic representation of love, and somehow heal one another? That's as close to perfection as you can get._

* * *

The sensations coursing through her veins were the only focus of her conscious. There was the warmth of the hand within her own, the slight flexing of Brittany's fingers when she would happen upon something that excited her, the breeze that should have cut through her skin but instead danced upon her face, gently cupping her cheeks. She allowed herself nothing more than the lights flooding her retinas, the light laughter escaping her girlfriend's lips when their shoulders would bump against one another, and the tug at her heartstrings when she'd turn her head to catch a glimpse of the smile that rivalled the brightness of the city they walked through, fingers intertwined. Everything concrete was within a bubble they'd created; everything tangible was Brittany, and Brittany alone. So unsurprisingly, Santana was attuned to the sound of her voice, immediately pulling her back from the lull they'd found themselves in.

"What are you doing?"

Brown eyes locked onto blue for a millisecond before looking away, fighting the blush across her cheeks. "Memorizing." Brittany arched an eyebrow in her direction, prompting her to explain. "I don't want to forget this night. I want every single moment to be burned into my mind, so I can remember tonight forever."

"Then c'mon!" She felt her hand suddenly tugged backwards, as it was all she could do to keep up with Brittany's long legs, pounding the pavement through the night air. She didn't question her motives, and raced after her, head thrown back in laughter as they bobbed and weaved through the other pedestrians. Even in the blur of motion, Santana saw several disapproving looks, but regardless of whether they were provoked by assumptions of teenaged recklessness or general disdain for the fact that they were both girls, she didn't care. The only glance that stuck was of awe, from a woman sitting at a bus stop directly across from where Brittany stopped them.

Looking up, she saw flashing lights indicating an arcade, and within moments, the blonde was pulling Santana through the doors, head whipping around until she caught sight of her target - a simple photo booth. Hands still connected, Brittany tugged her girlfriend once more, settling them in behind the curtains, and quickly inserting three dollars for the four pictures they'd hold in their hands momentarily. Perched on Santana's lap, the flash nearly blinding, they managed to bring their giggle fit to a stop by the third flash, pressing their lips together for the fourth. It took a fair amount of cajoling, but eventually, Santana was able to convince her girlfriend that while making out in a photo booth was something she'd be game for any day, they really ought to grab their stream of photos and find more "appropriate" activities to occupy themselves with under they made their way back to the apartment.

The bright sign outside didn't do the inner workings of the arcade justice. Every turn taken was blinding, a flurry of colors and flashing lights. They made their way through the majority of the games, finally landing themselves in front of the skee ball tables, with Santana unsuccessfully rolling the nine allotted balls into the lowest scoring circles every time. Brittany bumped her hip gently, sliding her out of the way before inserting two more quarters and hitting the 100,000 point circles in the two corners with nearly every ball. As the tickets poured out of the machine, she caught the slightest trace of a pout on Santana's face, and grinned back at her, provoking a chuckle that the brunette couldn't hold in. She finally caved, slipping onto the tips of her toes and pressing a kiss to the corner of Brittany's mouth.

"My knightness in flashing neon lights," she jokingly swooned, before tugging the long strand of tickets out of the side of the game. She heard a small voice whispering excitedly just to her left and found herself facing a little girl, no older than five, who was pointing at the wad of paper in her hands. A woman scooped her up, shooting an apologetic look at the two girls in front of her.

"Sorry, Sophie here hasn't quite mastered the art of not staring," she chuckled. "I'll let you two enjoy the rest of your evening."

Brittany tossed Santana a furtive look, effectively asking an unheard question before turning back to the woman who was walking in the opposite direction. "Ma'am?" The brunette flipped back around, clutching her daughter tightly. "And Sophie is it? Such a pretty name."

"Yes, yes it is," the tiny girl said nodding, before sticking out her hand in greeting. "Sophie Michelle Williams. It's nice to meet you." Brittany looked back at her girlfriend in shock, receiving no more than a shrug in return, a small smile playing on Santana's lips.

The blonde shook the little girl's hand, giving her own name, and a cheek splitting grin. "Well Miss Sophie Williams, it seems like my friend and I over here have too many tickets, and we don't know what to do with them. Can you give me any ideas?" She noted the widening of the older woman's eyes, and a slight shake of her head, and Brittany continued on. "We really can't use all of them, so - "

"My mommies and I could take them!" she exclaimed, wriggling excitedly in her mother's arms.

"Your mommies, really now?" Sophie nodded, pointing out a woman at the counter, exchanging a few more bills for quarters. The woman turned, waving in greeting and offering a warm smile in Santana's direction. "Well, I hope when I have kids, I have a little girl half as cute as you are, who's just as proud to have two mommies." She handed the tickets to the little girl, who clutched them tightly in her fists, shaking in anticipation of the prizes she could get with the number of tickets clasped in her hands. Brittany and Santana gave a nod and a small smile to the woman, intertwining their fingers before heading out.

Just before reaching the door, a soft hand grazed the blonde's shoulder, and she turned around to meet the woman Sophie had pointed out as her other mother. "You two really didn't have to do that."

Brittany looked back at the small girl, bouncing in excitement as she looked over the rings and stuffed animals and candy in the prize cases. "I know," she shrugged. "But seeing the look on your daughter's face was more than worth it."

Santana's heart was full to bursting at her girlfriend's selflessness, and it felt as though one more sentence could send her into a pile of mush that would have to be scraped off of the floor of the arcade. Brittany never failed to amaze her, and in small moments such as this, she was reminded why.

"Well, if you don't mind my saying so, I think you two are a beautiful couple," she said gently, noting Santana's eyes making an ever so intimate connection with her feet and the blush that covered the blonde's cheeks, "and I have a feeling you'll make wonderful parents. Thank you again. I'm sure Soph will be talking about this for weeks."

The two smiled politely and waving to the little girl once more before heading back onto the street, in the direction of their apartment. Brittany couldn't help but notice the shy smile on her girlfriend's face, lighting up the street side more than all the light bulbs in the world could.

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?" she whispered, wrapping an arm around Santana's shoulders and pulling her readily into her side.

"Just when I think I can't fall more in love with you - you prove me wrong."

* * *

**AN: A little fluff for you lovely ladies and gentlemen. The next update may take a little bit, because I'm brainstorming ideas as to how to get through the rest of senior year. Once we get to graduation, the last few chapters are already planned.**

If you have any suggestions, criticism, or things you'd like to see (prom perhaps? A senior trip or senior skip day?) let me know. Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!


	23. Chapter 23

_The back of the Jeep was piled high with boxes and suitcases, leaving only the front two seats clear for passengers. The windows were rolled down, the mid-August breeze rushing through the car and whipping hair around Santana's face. She heard the slightest hint of sound from the seat beside her, Brittany barely humming along with the radio. She could see the exit signs for Chicago in the distance, and the grin that had been permanently placed on her lips grew, if that was at all possible, as Brittany squeezed her hand just that much more tightly._

_I remember we were driving, driving in your car  
The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk  
City lights lay out before us  
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder  
And I had a feeling that I belonged  
And I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone_

_Santana finally gave in, singing along at the top of her lungs, her bangs continuously fluttering against her forehead, despite her repeated attempts to brush them back. She took in Brittany's laughter, so distinct and familiar, and heard her name soothingly whispered after. _

"Santana, wake up," she cooed, pressing feather light kisses to her girlfriend's forehead and cheeks until long eyelashes eased open, meeting bright blue eyes with the sheets of their impromptu fort as a backdrop. "We need to get going soon sweetheart. Our flight leaves at ten, and it's nearly eight." _Are you fucking kidding me? Why hasn't someone made a time machine already so I can fast forward through all of this and stay in Chicago forever? _

She groaned, shaking her head and curling back into her pillow. "I'm not leaving," she mumbled into the fabric. "I don't wanna get up."

"I've got two reasons you should get up though. Two really, really good reasons."

"I doubt that, but try me," Santana continued muttering into their makeshift bedding. It was too early for logic, too early for speaking, and certainly too early for anything but cuddling and lazy kisses.

"Number one: I've got coffee." The brunette quirked an eyebrow in interest, waiting for the second reason to be displayed to determine if it were actually worth it to drag herself out of her cozy fort. "Number two," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Santana's temple, "We have the rest of our lives to sleep in on a Sunday morning in Chicago. That's a lot of Sundays to take opportunity of - lots of Naked Sundays."

"Well played Pierce," she smirked. "I have a proposition. Bring my coffee to me naked, and I will be much more inclined to stay awake." Brittany huffed, rolling her eyes at her girlfriend's, at times, overly stubborn nature, but eventually caved. Santana eyed approvingly as she walked away, slowly removing the t-shirt and sweats she'd put on when she had headed out to the cafe.

The blonde crawled back into the fort moments later, a warm cup of coffee in each hand, and all she heard was a quietly muttered _we can take it to go_ before Santana's lips were on her own, her hands working steadily downwards.

* * *

"Stop it!" she hissed, fighting a grin as she swatted the warm hand away from its place - which was currently a little too far up her thigh for comfort. "Brittany!"

The blonde raised her eyebrows, flashing an innocent smile as she fluttered her eyelashes. "Yes?" she dragged out teasingly.

"It's not fair to try and induct me into the mile high club when we're like, five minutes from landing." She pulled her arms across her chest, simultaneously shifting her legs until they were crossed as well, pouting slightly. "You'll have to wait until we're on the ground." She cursed her clothing choice, a simple dress with tights and combat boots. Her tights were clinging to her center, as was her underwear, and uncomfortable would have been the understatement of the century.

However, all of her protests fell on deaf ears, as Brittany's hand resumed its travels, squeezing between Santana's tightly clinched thighs and rubbing gently as she leaned into her girlfriend's side, tucking her head on her shoulder nonchalantly. As a voice came over the intercom, announcing their descent, Brittany tilted her head slightly, whispering not-so-sweet _somethings_into Santana's ear, causing her thighs to clinch more tightly as fingertips barely grazed her center beneath their shared blanket. She managed to control her breathing and it wasn't until they touched down that she yelped as Brittany pressed harder onto her core. She shot apologetic looks to the passengers around her, claiming first time nerves, as the blonde feigned sleep on her shoulder.

* * *

When they made it off of the plane, Santana still glaring as her girlfriend fought fits of giggles, the two split up - Brittany to claim their baggage, and the brunette in search of a bathroom to touch up her makeup before they had dinner with Holly and April Puckerman.

"I hate traveling," she muttered as she fussed with her hair in front of the mirror, eventually turning on the sink to wash her hands. The airport was quiet for a Sunday afternoon, and their flight had only been half full, so she hadn't expected anyone to answer her self-talk.

"Really now?" she heard, echoing slightly in the what she was thought was empty room. The voice was deep for a woman, but she brushed it off as a cigar smoker or androgynous lesbian. "Because from what I remember, you like to get around."

Before she had a chance to retort cleverly or deliver, at the very least, a solid slap, she heard the lock click behind her, and looking up into the mirror, her eyes met harsh grey. "You shouldn't be here."

"And why is that?"

"Because I - because you - " she stuttered and fumbled and tripped over her words, displeased with the blubbering mess she'd transformed into. "My girlfriend will be looking for me."

"That's right - the blonde. Pierce, is it? I spoke to her mother earlier. Really sweet lady, once you know how to loosen her up a bit," the voice continued, barking out a laugh before moving swiftly forward, effectively pinning Santana against the sink.

* * *

Brittany had quickly grabbed their bags, as they were thankfully in the first few that exited the belt. She stood just outside of the airport's Starbucks, shifting a warm cup of coffee to tuck in her elbow as she tried Santana's phone again. _Straight to voicemail. _

Ten minutes of unanswered phone calls, and worry was all that occupied the blonde's thoughts. She'd passed three restrooms already, two of which weren't occupied by her girlfriend, and the third boasting an Out of Order sign.

She made her way back toward the center of the airport, in the direction of the information desk. She slipped the attendant, not much older than herself, a twenty dollar bill and soon Santana's name was being called over the loudspeakers.

* * *

"I told you," she hissed, grimacing against the weight he was pressing against her. "She's looking for me."

"She won't find you until I say she can," he returned with just as much disdain. "You know you ruined my father's life, don't you? Just because you chose to ruin your life doesn't mean you can ruin his too."

"He raped me Brian!" she bellowed, hoping with all she had that someone outside the doors would hear her. "I was _thirteen_!"

"And a fucking dyke even then," he growled, teeth gritted. Santana's right arm curled, hooking into the corner of his jaw, pushing him back just far enough for her to run toward the door. "You're going to pay for that!"

* * *

_Where the hell is she? What if she got lost, or got tired of waiting for _me_, or if she's hurt? We never should have split up. I should have gone with her, and then this wouldn't be happening. What if - what if we can't find her? And what if - _

Brittany's phone sounded off, the sudden vibration startling her from her thoughts. She eagerly reached into her pocket, her face falling upon realizing the text wasn't from her girlfriend.

_I just took your mom into the hospital. She needs stitches above her eyebrow but she'll be fine. You and Santana be careful. Come and meet us when you land, I'll explain everything then. xo Mama P_

Nothing made sense. Not a thing in Brittany's world made sense until she heard a distinctive voice coming from her left, from the third bathroom - the one out of order. She throttled herself towards the handle, shaking it until she could be sure that it wasn't going to open, before slamming her palm against the door.

Flipping her head around, her eyes landed on the security guard who'd been side-eyeing her every movement, praying that what apparently seemed like terrorist characteristics would be believable as my-girlfriend-is-trapped-in-that-bathroom-and-I'm-losing-my-mind-with-worry characteristics.

* * *

In sheer moments, he had her pinned against the far wall of the bathroom, his left hand holding her chin steady and forcing eye contact while his right trailed up and down her side. She squirmed, but his pressure was firm. She knew better than to call again for help, if the sharp pain in her stomach and blood dripping down her hip bone was anything to go by.

His right hand dipped just below the hem of her skirt, moving steadily back upwards, coming in contact with the remains of the heat Brittany had inspired. "Oh _Santanita_," he whispered condescendingly. "All for me?"

Her chin quivered in his grasp, her eyes pooling over. _Where the fuck was Brittany?_

* * *

"Please sir, my girlfriend's in there."

"Clearly she isn't, as there is an out of order sign, and it's locked. That means it's out of order."

She rolled her eyes spectacularly, scoffing at his ignorance, and temporarily blinded by frustration, rather than fear. "Watch this," she barked, banging her fist against the door several times and calling her girlfriend's name. All she could hear was a strangled cry of "Britt - " before there was a loud thud, and then several more, much closer and more distinct. It took her nearly a minute to realize the second set of sounds was from the security guard, now slamming all of his weight against the bathroom door until it finally gave way.

She scrambled across the threshold, flying toward her girlfriend who lay slumped on the floor, clutching her stomach and cheek simultaneously. An angry bruise was flaring across the left side of her face, and every minute movement had her wincing. Brittany moved to lift her dress and Santana quickly shook her head, the tears falling fast and hard down her cheeks.

"Please don't Britt. Please." If her words weren't pleading enough, her eyes were. The blonde could barely make out the woman she knew so well in the depths of chocolate brown, and even more than her obvious bruising and unending tears, the lack of presence in Santana's eyes terrified her.

The security guard finally spoke up from across the room, holding Brian Adams tight in a head lock. "Ma'am, are you planning on pressing charges? I can hold him until the cops get here, and release the security tapes to them, if you want."

Santana shook her head once more, but Brittany shushed her. "We'd appreciate that. Thank you." She eased her hands underneath the brunette's arms, taking on her weight fully once they were both standing. "Now, if you don't mind, we've got to get to the hospital. The cops have our numbers." Brian sneered as they passed by, struggling to escape the vice grip the guard had him in, not stopping his tirade of slurs until they were out of ear shot.

Another security guard met them just outside the door, their bags in hand. He offered to retrieve their car, and Brittany nodded gratefully, settling Santana down on a bench near the drop off area.

"I'm not going to the hospital," she whispered, her voice holding no bite.

"We're going."

"I'm fine Britt."

"You're not, and that's okay, but we're going anyway."

"I don't want - "

"My mom is in the hospital, okay?" she finally snapped. "I'm going. If you don't want to, that's fine, but Mama P texted me, and asked _us, _both of us, to meet them there."

Santana simply nodded weakly, slipping into the passenger's seat of her Jeep when the guard pulled up, and buckling the belt. Every bump in the road jarred her body as they flew in the direction of Lima General, but she welcomed each stab of pain in her stomach, even as she felt the blood seeping through the fabric of her dress.

She deserved it. All of this was her fault.

* * *

**AN: I do apologize for the angst, and I'm going to apologize in advance, because the next chapter won't be sunshine and rainbows either. This situation will be resolved in the next chapter however, and then we'll be moving forward once again.**

Britt's mid term is coming up - any suggestions for songs?  
And since you guys loved Sophie so much, I've got a little something up my sleeve. ;)

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope to have another up asap. Review if you'd like, and thank you again for reading. :)

- A 


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: I just wanted to put a trigger warning on this chapter, in regards to the nature of Santana's injuries, and how they came about. Please read with caution.  
**

* * *

"Mom!" The hospital bed became a tangle of long blonde hair and even longer limbs as Brittany throttled herself at her mother. When she pulled back, wiping at her tears, an accumulation of all of the tension from the past hour, she caught sight of a cheeky grin coloring Holly's features.

"B, I've dealt with worse. Being a pseudo-lesbian has its downsides, you know? Apparently if you make out with a girl that looks like a guy, the girl's girlfriend doesn't take too kindly to it." Brittany tried to cough out a laugh, but given the information that Santana supplied on the ride over - the only communication they'd exchanged - she couldn't help but allow the dread coursing through her veins to fill up her body entirely. "I'm okay sweetheart, really. Nothing a few stitches and a good dose of pain killers can't beat."

"But Mom - "

"No, Britt. I'm just fine. He wanted to know where you girls were, and I didn't want to tell him. He didn't take too kindly to that," she replied, cutting her daughter off effectively. "But I'm okay, and you two are okay, and that's what matters right now."

The blonde's eyes clouded, and she set her gaze resolutely on the light fixtures above her, hoping to have the tears fall right back behind her eyelashes. She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut tightly before looking back at her mother. "We're not okay. She's not okay."

* * *

_Sleeping pills, no sleeping dogs lie never far enough away  
Glistening in the cold sweat of guilt  
I've watched you slowly winding down for years  
You can't keep on like this - now is as bad of time as any._

Her body language was so much like that of the day of her last appointment with her case worker. Slumped in the waiting room chair, tracing circles into the floor with the toe of her boot, she pulled a hoodie more tightly around her body, hiding the slight staining around her left hip. She tugged the strings around her face, allowing her bangs to fall across her forehead, covering the bruising on her cheek when she saw two officers pass through to the nurses' station, asking for Holly. Once they'd passed, she turned in the opposite direction, deciding that meandering through the infinite hallways was better than waiting for them to come and find her, sitting stock still. Time seemed to be moving at a rate of its own volition, and until Santana felt her phone vibrate, against the hands tucked into her jacket pockets, she hadn't realized she'd been standing in front of the nursery, taking in the tiny beings in front of her.

_Where are you Santana? I'm worried sick. Please text me back. I love you, xx B_

Her heart screamed for Brittany to be back at her side, while her brain told her that she ought to walk away all together. None of the people in her life should have to be putting up with her past - they shouldn't be suffering because of an event six years ago, when they hadn't even known her then. Her heart, however, won, as it usually did when Brittany was involved, and she sent a text back, giving her girlfriend directions to the nursery.

It wasn't long before blonde hair flew around the corner, much as it had the first afternoon she'd seen the girl, slipping into her car. Brittany slowed her steps as she cautiously approached Santana, eventually feeling that physical contact was allowed, and wrapping her arms around her girlfriend's tiny waist, careful not to hold too tightly. A slight brush against her hip, however, dragged a rattling gasp out of Santana's throat, and her body shook against the strong one behind her.

Brittany positioned her arms slightly higher on the brunette's torso, resting her head on the shoulder in front of her. "Please let me see the bruises. I want to make sure it's nothing more than that."

Santana's voice was barely a whisper when she found the words to respond, and it was as if each letter pained her as it fell over her lips. "It is more than that."

The blonde pulled back, analyzing the words as best she could, before intertwining their fingers, and pulling her girlfriend gently along with her. They found their way to the nearest bathroom and when the lock clicked behind them, Santana froze, eyes wide and body trembling against her will. Brittany turned to face her, and all the brunette could see was blue - blue, blue, blue radiating love in her direction. She snapped back into the moment when Brittany rested her palms against Santana's cheeks, brushing a thumb gently over the bruising. Any pain the wound inflicted slowly seeped away as she leaned into the touch, as she took in the cooing words washing over her.

"It's just me. I'm not going to hurt you," she breathed, removing her hands from the over warmed cheeks and toward the hem of her girlfriend's dress. "I'm going to lift this up, okay? Just to see." Santana nodded hesitantly, taking gulping breaths as Brittany eased the garment further north. It took all she possessed not to burst into tears then and there, as her eyes fluttered over the marred caramel skin. Surface bruises were forming along her rib cage, but after running her fingers along them, they seemed not to be worrisome. Tucked underneath however, lay the cause of the stain, bright red and angry and mocking her without mercy. She stood, walking directly toward the sink and wetting a solitary paper towel before returning to her knees, and pulling the dress back up. She dabbed at the lingering traces of blood on Santana's hip bone as her left hand held the brunette's in a vice grip. Finally satisfied with her work, she stood up, placing a lingering kiss on the girl's temple. "We need to get it looked at baby. I don't want the cuts to get infected."

"I don't - I don't want anybody to see it," she barely whispered.

"Can I do it then? I'll explain, without details, and see about getting some antiseptic and bandages from a nurse, and no one but me will see it." Santana nodded once more. "The cops have to take pictures though, okay? They said they need to know the extent of the damage. But Mama spoke to your lawyer, and they're going to do their best to keep it out of court. You'll give a statement now, and won't have to testify later unless you want to, all right?" A third nod finalized the conversation, and Brittany wrapped an arm around her girlfriend, walking back toward Holly's room.

* * *

Santana was running late, again. She had been working extra hours at the dental office for weeks, doing everything in her power to avoid her apartment, her thoughts, and, to Brittany's disappointment, her girlfriend. She refused to change in front of the blonde, cuddling seemed to be a chore for her, and their sex life was legitimately nonexistent.

Brittany checked the clock on the stove for the sixth time that hour, seeing that it was nearly six o'clock, and continued her stirring until she heard a familiar name coming from the TV's speakers.

_In what has been named the most heinous hate crime in Lima's history, Brian Adams has been charged with assault with a deadly weapon and sexual harassment with special circumstances for attacking an eighteen year old female in a Lima Heights Airport restroom. In addition to a plethora of natural injuries, a four letter homophobic slur was carved into her hip bone. The same young woman was a victim of rape from Adams' father, Paul Adams, six years ago, and authorities believe the attack was in retaliation for his father's imprisonment. Paul Adams is currently being held on attempted breaking and entering charges, as well as with parole violation and obstruction of justice. The authorities have determined -_

The television clicked off, and Brittany turned, taking in the quivering girl in front of her, the remote control clutched tightly in her hand. Opening her arms, she beckoned Santana toward her, and the brunette eventually complied, falling onto Brittany's lap and curling into her side, sobbing silently.

"I'm so sorry Britt," she whispered. "I didn't mean to shut you out. I just - " Her sentence was broken by a sharp inhale and a fresh set of tears wracking her thin frame. The blonde rocked them gently back and forth, cooing into her hair line and sending hushed reassurances of love into the top of her head. When Santana had managed to settle down some, she sat further up, her eyes boring into the blue ones directly in front of her, as she ran her fingers shakily through long blonde locks. "I love you, you know that right? I love you so much I don't know what to do with myself sometimes. But, you shouldn't have to deal with this, to deal with me." She paused, but pressed a finger to Brittany's lips to let her finish. "I just - part of me thinks I should let you go, that I should let you be happy with someone else, so you wouldn't have to put up with all of this shit. But the other part of me, the bigger part, says I couldn't possibly lose you, ever. I just don't want you to get hurt, because of me. I don't want you to resent me for any of this."

"Santana, I'm not going anywhere. I couldn't resent you even if I wanted to. I love you, okay? I'm not leaving." The pads of her thumbs were brushing steadily against the brunette's cheeks, attempting to dry them. "I'm not ever leaving," she whispered, pulling her girlfriend closer, tears brimming in her own eyes.

"Please don't give up on me." Brittany shook her head, a silent _I won't. _"Do you promise?" she mumbled, not entirely sure if she were willing to hear the answer.

"I promise."

* * *

"Santana, stop wiggling." The brunette continued scratching at her abdomen, face contorted into a grimace as her fingers pulled back and forth. "Santana!"

The harsh whisper of her name caught the girl's attention, and a sheepish smile fluttered across her face before the scowl returned to her features. "Is it seriously supposed to itch this much? This is torture Mama."

"It means it's healing honey. Now hush, the lights are going down."

Santana flopped back in her seat, crossing her arms and fighting the urge to continue scratching at the cuts on her hip, an annoyingly constant reminder of the incident just after Valentine's Day. She settled her elbow onto the arm of the chair, _fucking uncomfortable chair_, and leaned her cheek against her fist, tilting her head to the side and effectively making the people performing before Brittany look slightly less uncoordinated.

After tapping her foot impatiently, playing several levels of 100 Floors, and feigning two bathroom trips, Brittany finally took the stage, radiant in the soft lights surrounding her. Santana hadn't been privy to anything but a few short combinations of moves the blonde had shown her and hearing the opening strains of the song, she knew that the piece had been reworked entirely. The gentle guitar didn't match the hard hitting moves Brittany had originally choreographed, and a slight tug of guilt settled into Santana's chest, wondering how she allowed herself to separate from her girlfriend so fully that she hadn't noticed the extra hours the blonde had been in the studio.

_Come to me now  
And lay your hands over me  
Even if it's a lie  
Say it will be alright  
And I shall believe_

The soft, almost hesitant way she floated across the stage mimicked perfectly the way they'd been dancing around each other for weeks, never stepping too closely to the edge of the precipice Santana had built between them. Her turns were overly controlled, much as the brunette's emotions had been, and she realized quickly that Brittany's body was speaking for both of them. The blonde had encompassed and digested every negative feeling floating between them, and was splaying it across the stage in the most graceful piece Santana had ever seen her execute.

_I'm broken in two  
And I know you're on to me  
That I only come home  
When I'm so all alone  
But I do believe_

Each word engorged the lump building in the brunette's chest. The words were hers, the reaction to the lyrics though, were entirely Brittany. When Santana was too afraid to face her girlfriend - too afraid to break down - the dancer had found solace in molding herself around the words of another, the words Santana had refused to acknowledge.

_That not everything is gonna be the way  
You think it ought to be  
It seems like every time I try to make it right  
It all comes down on me  
Please say honestly you won't give up on me  
And I shall believe_

Her movements during the chorus lost control. All of the anger and fight that filtered through Santana's veins day after day was there - in the elegant thrashing, the perfectly shattered jetes, the pained expression clouding her features. Brittany had tried, the only way she knew how, to take the hurt of the experience and remove both of them from it. She longed only to turn something twisted into something beautiful, and she was succeeding spectacularly.

_Open the door_  
_And show me your face tonight_  
_I know it's true_  
_No one heals me like you_  
_And you hold the key_

_Never again_  
_would I turn away from you_  
_I'm so heavy tonight_  
_But your love is alright_  
_And I do believe_

She flashed back to the night, just days ago, when they sat curled into one another, and that warm, familiar feeling flooded her temporarily - the very same one she felt leaving Holly's house before Chicago, the one she'd allow to fill her up when she would be wrapped in April Puckerman's arms after a bad day at the office - the feeling of home.

_That not everything is gonna be the way  
You think it ought to be  
It seems like every time I try to make it right  
It all comes down on me  
Please say honestly  
You won't give up on me  
And I shall believe  
I shall believe_

She stood with everyone else, though rather than clapping wildly with the rest of the audience, she was entirely focused on getting to the blonde. Passing several disgruntled people on her way to the aisle, she could feel as Brittany's eyes connected with her own, and didn't leave her until she'd made her way out of the side door to the auditorium. She heard the backstage exit open to her right, and within seconds a flushed blonde was flying toward her and pulling her close as their lips crashed together, haphazard and rushed, but perfect in its imperfection. The remains of the hurt and the pain she'd allowed to take over her body for weeks was slowly ebbing away, until all she felt filling her up was love - love and a whole lot of Brittany.

* * *

**AN: Okay, I felt terrible for leaving you guys hanging like that, haha. This chapter was to make up for the awful tension of the last, and to settle down the majority of it. I have a chapter of nothing but fluff coming up for you guys for Chapter 25, and I hope you'll enjoy it. :)**


	25. Chapter 25

Santana's apartment looked as though a paper mill had exploded within the confines of her living room. She'd yet to have a chance to pick up any residual midterm study guides or books from previous exams, and Brittany had seriously suggested they think about building a fort out of the expanse of Red Bull cans littering the kitchen counter. If it weren't for the fact that her next, and last, test was t-minus seven hours and fifty two minutes away, she'd have taken the blonde up on that offer - or the one that involved hurling her books at the cans as if they were bowling.

"Definition of memory."

"The ability to store and retrieve information over time," she recited exactly, more than pleased when Brittany flipped the note card over and added it to the growing stack of correct answers she had piled up on the coffee table.

"Visual Imagery Encoding," she prompted.

"The process of storing new information by converting it into mental pictures," she replied, scrunching her eyebrows slightly and turning her gaze upward as if it would help her remember more clearly. She received a swift peck on the lips for yet another correct response, and grinned to herself.

"That one was easy though. You do that all the time. It's like your brain is a camera too," Brittany mused, smiling shyly. She flipped the small piece of paper over in her hand, placing it on the very top of the stack on the table to her right, effectively leaving her hands void of any more index cards.

"I think I'm ready," Santana stated resolutely, nodding once for emphasis.

"I sincerely hope so," Brittany quipped in response, pressing their lips together while simultaneously pressing the brunette's back against the arm of the couch. Within moments, it wasn't simply her mouth that the blonde was exploring, and as a warm hand reached beneath Santana's sweatpants, Brittany hummed in approval. "Definitely ready."

* * *

"Mama, can you seriously even comprehend how awkward this is?" she essentially barked into the phone, rolling her eyes and mouthing a _Really? _to Brittany when she'd caught her girlfriend's gaze. "It's really awkward, for the record. Like, on a scale of one to Michael Cera, I'm anticipating this conversation to conclude at approximately a level twelve." She paused, huffing slightly as she flopped onto the bench outside, settling her legs over the blonde's and pulling a carton out of her purse. She murmured affirmations to Ms. Puckerman on the other line, placing the cigarette between her lips before Brittany promptly removed it and smashed it beneath her shoe.

She opened her mouth to protest, but the blonde waggled a finger at her. "We said we were quitting. Emergencies only."

Santana pouted before covering the mouthpiece of her phone with her hand. "Mama Puck is asking questions about our sex life. I consider this an emergency Britt." Despite her attempts at muffling her voice, April could be heard clearly on the other end of the line, responding to the brunette's whine. "We're fine, I swear. Have you been talking to Megan?" There was a pause as she waited out the explanation. "Yeah, I figured. Holly too, I'm guessing? Because she's the only one who would phrase it that way. I could practically hear your air quoting from here."

What little Brittany heard was muffled noises and the occasional, _I'm just concerned _or _emotional scarring_, but tried her best to pretend she wasn't attempting to eavesdrop.

"It took a while, but I'm okay Mama. Britt's been her wonderful self, and I think her performance helped us both a lot more than we'd admit. So please don't worry, okay? We'll see you and Puck tonight for dinner. I love you." She hit the end button on her phone and collapsed back against the bench, huffing her bangs out of her eyes.

"Can you see why she's concerned?" Brittany asked quietly after a while, side-eyeing her girlfriend.

"As much as I hate when you pull the voice of reason card, yes. I can. Doesn't make it any less awkward though. In other news, in the Things I Actually Don't Mind Talking About broadcast," she paused, holding back a grin, "I'm pretty sure I aced my midterm."

"Of course you did," she heard from over her shoulder, the voice prompting a knee-jerk reaction, her legs almost hitting Brittany in the face. The woman gave the girls both a moment to collect themselves before speaking again. "I've got a proposition for you two."

"For someone with rustling skirts, you're mad ninja at sneaking up on us Mrs. Sonnier," Santana muttered, while the blonde simply cocked her head to the side, indicating that _she, _at least, was listening.

"Danielle and I have a friend's gallery opening to go to tomorrow night, and we were wondering if there was any way to swindle you two into watching Tommy for us for the evening? It would only be a few hours, and - "

"Yes!"

"Yes?" Santana echoed in disbelief, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline. Noting the warning signs of the most convincing pout to date, she gave in quickly. "I mean, of course. We'd love to." The sound of a whip echoed in the confines of her skull, and she shook her head to clear the bouncing noise from between her ears. The photography teacher handed her a slip of paper with an address, telling them to be there at 6:30, and sidled away shortly after. Incredulous brown eyes met nearly guilty blue, and pressing a kiss to Brittany's temple, the brunette stood. "I've got to get to work, but you should know that you owe me, _big time._Like back massages for life, homemade chocolate cake, I receive your first born child owe me."

Santana turned to walk away, thankfully shielding the shy smile playing on her lips when the blonde called out to her back, "You do realize that my first born is probably already going to be yours, right?"

* * *

Three teenagers sat curled up on the couch, the only sound audible over the explosions of the television screen being the running water in the kitchen as April Puckerman began the dinner's dishes. Both Puck and Brittany twisted their bodies as their characters ran across the screen, throwing grenades into abandoned buildings, thumbs moving furiously across the controllers.

"This is bullshit," Puck exclaimed, receiving a reproaching comment from his mother in the kitchen. "How are you so good at Call of Duty Britts?"

"I'm better with my fingers than you are," she replied, shrugging noncommittally and focusing her gaze on Santana for a second before returning her eyes to the screen.

"Speaking of, when are you gonna get married and start making lady babies? I'm ready to be an uncle, and you two don't seem to be making much progress."

"Not due to lack of trying," she smirked, nudging him in the shoulder as Santana stood, crossing in front of the TV and meandering her way into the kitchen, trying to avoid the growing level of uncomfortable tension in the room.

"Mama?" she whispered, leaning her head onto April's shoulder once she'd settled in front of the sink. "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course sweetheart. What's on your mind?" It was obvious from the tone in Santana's voice that this wasn't headed in a lighthearted direction, and when her hazel eyes flicked to her daughter's face, she saw nothing but confliction and panic reflected. "You know what?" she finally said, seeing that the young woman didn't seem anywhere near ready to speak. "Go grab your jacket and your cigarettes - " The look of disbelief on Santana's face provoked a chuckle from April's lips. "Yes, I know you smoke, and you look like you need one." She received a sheepish look in response. "We're going to go take a walk."

The streets were dark, illuminated only by the occasional sprinkling of street lights and the warmth flooding from house windows, but despite Santana's fear, she felt safe as the pair walked up and down the sidewalks of the neighborhood.

"You want to propose." It wasn't a question. In the four word sentence, no gentle lilt at the end was present, no hesitation, and no doubt. It was as pure a statement of truth as there ever was. The young girl nodded, but said nothing. "And you're worried - terrified, actually. You don't know if it's too soon, or if she'd say yes, or how you would even begin to know that she's the one you're meant to spend the rest of your life with." Another nod was given.

"My advice is, given that _Can I talk to you_ typically means, in Lopez language, _I need your help but I don't have the words to ask for it_, to wait it out. I, from the bottom of my heart, don't believe she's going anywhere. You're eighteen sweetheart. You may have grown up fast, and unfairly, and you may have far too many responsibilities for someone your age, but you're not an adult yet - neither of you are. The fact that she's willing, and excited, to move in with you next year is an indication of her commitment. I know that right now eight months seems like a lifetime to you, but you still have sixty years to be with her - to build a life together, to grow together, to become who you two are both meant to be. There's no rush in that. Being married changes a lot, and I want you to be able to enjoy being complete idiots while you still can, without feeling that you aren't acting as you should, just because you have a ring on your finger."

Santana nodded a third time, much more resolutely. The words continued to float around in her head, sinking into the furthest corners of her brain as they settled, one by one. "Can I show you something?" She reached underneath her jacket, pulling a long silver chain out from beneath her shirt. Dangling at the end, spinning slightly, was an asscher cut diamond, glinting against the street lamp's light. The jewel was flanked by smaller diamonds, with two sapphires at the base, nearest the main piece. "It was my mother's. In their will, it specifically said not to release the ring into my possession until I had found the girl I wanted to marry. I went to my trustee last week - "

"Your parents will said until you found the girl you wanted to marry?" April cut in with incredulity.

Santana nodded, smiling. "My parents knew before I did. My dad tried to put stipulations on it, saying that it needed to be a blonde, but I'm pretty sure my mom vetoed that, and instead it was _suggested_," she used air quotes, "in an accompanying letter."

"Well, after this talk, what exactly do you plan on doing with that ring sweetheart?"

"It'll stay around my neck for a few years I think. You were right in saying there was no rush, but we all know I'm not exactly patient," she finished, giving a self-deprecating laugh.

April pulled her into a tight hug before they headed up the front steps of the house, shutting the door behind them as they heard a distinctly female voice yell, "HEAD SHOT!"

* * *

Her head bobbled in recognition as she took in her surroundings. To be perfectly frank, Santana wasn't absorbing a single word Mollie and Danielle were saying - their directions were floating in one ear and out of the other as her gaze roamed the plush red sectional couch, the expanse of photographs across the walls, and the simplistic accents of the modern decor. She held a strong suspicion that Danielle had decorated most of the home, because let's face it - Mrs. Sonnier was a hippie, born and bred. Santana was expecting incense and mismatched pillows and perhaps a hookah.

"So, the emergency numbers are on the side of the fridge, and - "

"They got it Moll." Danielle rested a reassuring hand on her back before slipping around her waist to guide her out of the front door. She turned back to Brittany, speaking once more. "We'll be home around eleven, and I'll text you if we'll be late for whatever reason."

Both girls nodded, letting out a sigh of relief when the door finally shut behind the older couple. They spun around simultaneously, three sets of eyes locking on one another. Tommy stood silently in the center of the living room, hands clasped behind his back. After giving them an obvious once over, he flicked his eyes downward and shuffled towards the coffee table, sitting on the floor with a plop in front of an open coloring book and crayons. Brittany took this opportunity to go and stir up something for dinner - chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese - while Santana shifted nervously from one foot to the other before electing to sit down a foot away from the toddler, perched on the edge of the couch. With speed rivaling the sloth-like pace of continental drifting, Tommy spent the twenty minutes Brittany stayed in the kitchen to slowly but surely edge himself closer to the brunette on the couch.

As she swung back in, three plates balanced in her arms, the blonde crouched down in front of the little boy, meeting him at eye level. "Would you like some juice honey?" She placed a hand on his arm, recoiling slightly when Tommy pulled away and shook his head. "Well, what would you like to drink? Would you like milk?" Her voice was sickly sweet, and he shook his head once more. Trying to shield her frustration, she shifted her gaze to Santana, who shrugged, but leaned forward, running her fingers through the top of the little boy's dark hair.

"My mom used to make me chocolate milk when I ate chicken nuggets. Would you like that?" He turned to her and nodded, smiling brightly, prompting Brittany to stand to her full height, heading back toward the kitchen.

His smile disappeared immediately. "I want 'Tana to make it."

The brunette shrugged in her girlfriend's direction before offering her hand to Tommy, the small child following her to the kitchen with no further complaints. As she mixed in the syrup, she caught his gaze. "You know, Britt is really sweet. I think she wants to be her friend."

He seemed to consider this for a second, then upon deliberating, delivered a response far beyond the years of a four year old. "She tries too hard. You don't."

"Well then," she said, bending down to place the sippie cup between his still slightly pudgy fingers, "will you try with her?"

He nodded before wrapping his arms around her neck. "A boy at day care, Josh, told me I'm not 'sposed to have two moms, you know? But I think my two moms is awesome, and I think you and Brittany is gonna be two moms that is awesome too."

Santana cupped his cheek gently, trying unsuccessfully to fight the smile creeping across her features and the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "Thanks buddy. I think we're going to be awesome too." As she stood, slipping a bent pointer finger beneath her eyes to wipe at the tears, he slipped his tiny, albeit somehow sticky, hand in her free one, dragging her into the living room.

Once the plates were clean, and Tommy's Lego princess was saved from the fire-breathing dragon by his _other _Lego princess, the three settled in to watch a movie before the little boy had to be sent to bed. However, two hours later, when Mollie and Danielle came home, they found the trio curled up on the couch, all fast asleep. Brittany was flopped over the arm of the sofa, legs bent, with Santana's head tucked into the curve of her knees. Most surprisingly to the pair, Tommy was sleeping just as soundly as the two teenagers, pressed into the brunette's stomach while she had a protective arm wrapped around him, holding the child close.

"Just leave them," Danielle whispered. "We can talk to them about the trip in the morning." Mollie nodded before leaving a feather-light kiss to their son's head. He squirmed slightly under her touch, but Santana's arm pulled him back immediately, wrapping him more tightly, whereupon he settled once again into a deep sleep.

* * *

"Brittany, Santana, there's something we would like to talk to you about." The two girls, with Tommy sat between them, exchanged a worried glance that the little boy didn't fail to notice.

He grasped both of their hands before leaning into the blonde's side, attempting, and failing spectacularly, to whisper words of reassurance. His hushed tones could have echoed enough to be heard across the house. "I don't think you're in trouble Britty. When I'm in trouble, Mama says 'Thomas Michael Sonnier!' real loud." His admittance thankfully broke the tension of the living room, and both girls, giggling, returned their gaze to the couple standing a few feet away.

"Mollie and I are planning a little road trip, in June, to Chicago," Danielle began hesitantly, unsure of where to allow her wife to cut in. "We wanted to know if you'd accompany us, seeing as you'll both have graduated, and Mollie will no longer be your teacher Santana."

The two exchanged a second glance, this one more questioning, and significantly less fearful. Brittany shrugged, switching her gaze between the older couple, their son, and her girlfriend. "Okay."

Being the admittedly more guarded of the pair, Santana didn't fold so easily. "Where are we going?" She paused, furrowing her brow in thought. "And why do you want _us _to come?"

Mollie jumped in at that moment, with Danielle letting out an immense sigh of relief. "They have a Pride weekend in Chicago in June, and I think it would be good for you Santana." A sharp pain flooded her left side, and she winced, fighting the urge to clutch the scar on her abdomen and run out of the front door. Instead, she settled on pulling her arms closer to her stomach and fiddling with her charm bracelet. The actions didn't go unnoticed, and it was sheer moments before Tommy was plopped on Brittany's lap, and she'd been pulled into her girlfriend's side, a strong arm wrapped around her waist.

"Mama got a tattoo last year. But we could just get matching rainbow flags 'Tana," the little boy tried. "And we could watch the parade together." She was learning quickly that the shy smiles Tommy would send her way were nearly as crippling as Brittany's pout. She didn't have a shot in hell.

Her shoulders slumped, all the fight pulled out of her, she finally nodded. "But if those Westboro bible thumpers come anywhere near me, I will not be held responsible for my actions, understood?"

* * *

She felt the remains of her own slick heat against Brittany's thigh as she pressed further into her, curling her fingers at the slightest of an angle. Within moments, she was being flooded, coated in serenity, as she noted the arch of her girlfriend's back, the barely parted lips allowing small puffs of air to be exhaled, the twitches in her thigh muscles. Santana was embraced by a warmth of unconditional love, blanketed by unbridled passion, and woven into the connection that buzzed between their bodies, shooting sparks of electricity when she very least expected it. Allowing herself several minutes to absorb the feelings coursing through her, she finally collapsed next to her girlfriend, tickling up the side of her abdomen while Brittany's fingers brushed through her hair.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered, not in any rush to break the spell that had fallen around them.

Brittany tugged her just slightly closer before responding. "You're going to make an amazing mother." Before Santana had a chance to protest, she continued. "I know you probably don't think so, but you will be. Tommy adores you."

"He likes you too," she refuted quickly.

"He _warmed up _to me." Her fingers moved from Santana's hair to trace shapes into her spine. She paused for just a moment, weighing her next words heavily. "Do you want kids?"

"I didn't. I used to worry about something happening to me, and having them left to be raised by someone else, but that worry is slowly fading away. I think I want kids - I do."

Brittany thanked the heavens that Santana was currently nestled into her chest, because the tears cascading down her cheeks were coming fast, and she found herself unable to fight them. "Do you remember what you told me the night we met Sophie?" She felt her girlfriend's cheek move just slightly against her, a soft smile appearing before she nodded. "I don't think I've ever loved you more than I do in this moment, and I can't help but think that the only time I could ever love you more would be if - "

Santana lifted off her chest, meeting the tear stained face and wan smile. "If what beautiful?" she whispered, running her thumbs along Brittany's cheeks to wipe the residual moisture away.

"It's stupid."

The brunette's heart fluttered slightly, hoping with all she possessed that she wasn't mistaken as to where her girlfriend had been headed with this conversation. "Nothing you think, or dream, or hope for is stupid Britt."

"Seeing you with Tommy - I just - it was so easy to imagine you glowing, with the tiniest of a baby bump. You would be the absolute cutest pregnant woman, and I just - " She sighed, her eyelids fluttering closed as she reimagined the idea in her head. "I think if we ever got to that point, I wouldn't possibly be able to love you more than then."

Santana ran her thumb along Brittany's cheekbone just once more, before leaning into a lingering kiss, hoping her body could convey the flurry of emotions bursting within her frame. "We'll get there Britt. I know we will."

* * *

**AN: As promised, fluff, fluff, and more fluff for you beautiful readers. :) Nearly four thousand words of fluff, which is probably a chapter record for this fic. Haha. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, because I'm incredibly pleased with how it turned out. Shoot me a review if you'd like, with criticism, suggestions, etc. T****hanks again for reading! I'll update asap.**


	26. Chapter 26

The wet grass easily folded beneath her feet as she turned this way and that, searching for a name she wasn't entirely sure of. All she had to go off of was the fact that she was searching for a pair, and honestly, the majority of the stones she had passed thus far had been in pairs, so even that wasn't much of an aid. She continued her way through the early morning light, meandering through each row as if she were grocery shopping and not searching for her girlfriend's parents' tombstones. Finally, tucked just underneath a cherry blossom tree, nearly dead center in the graveyard, she found the matching pair she'd been searching for, though she was surprised to find that they were left unseparated. Carved meticulously into a single tombstone, were two names, four dates, and a simple message.

_Antonio and Maribel Lopez  
January 28, 1970 - June 3, 2005; April 4, 1971 - June 3, 2005  
Debe adorar enteramente y no hay sitio para el dolor._

Brittany's knowledge of Spanish was limited to what she'd heard Santana say, which normally consisted of _dulces suenos mi hermosa _or something entirely different, and more along the lines of _quiero que tu vengas mil veces. _Tapping the words into a translator on her phone, she smiled at the sentiment, fighting tears as the words rang truer than Santana's parents could have known given their circumstances. Tracing the phrase with a gentle fingertip, she sank to the ground, not at all concerned with the dampness seeping through her jeans. It was then that Brittany realized she had absolutely no idea what she was doing here. Did she speak to the ground, or the stone, or perhaps the sky? Did she address them directly? And Jesus, what names did she need to use? It seemed like it would be rude to simply call them Antonio and Maribel, but maybe they wouldn't appreciate the formality of Mr. and Mrs. Lopez.

She cleared her throat and shook her head, finally deciding to stare at her hands, and avoid name usage as long as she could. "Hi," she said quietly, clearing her throat. "I don't know if Santana has mentioned me, but I'm Brittany," she began, the uncomfortable feeling in her chest not letting up. "I'm her girlfriend. I'm pretty sure you guys knew before - " She let out a sigh, shaking her head once more at her inability to hold this one sided conversation with a rock. "Well, if you didn't know then, I suppose you kind of know now." She huffed her bangs out of her face, switching her gaze from her shaking fingers to the names in front of her. "I'm sorry I'm not better at this. I've actually never visited my father's grave. I just wanted to forget that he'd been taken from me, but Santana, she wants to remember you both, so much. I know she misses you still, after all this time. She has April now, but I know it's not the same."

Her thoughts were jumbled, and she was rambling, but speaking seemed much more fitting than the silence she'd been wrapped in before, and it seemed she might finally be getting somewhere - the somewhere she wanted to be when she decided to make this trip. "Anyway, I - I just want you to know, someone to know, how much it is that I love your daughter. I don't think she even realizes it. I thought after sticking around so long, maybe she'd start to believe that I'm not going anywhere, but no matter what I do or say, it's like it's not quite enough. I don't know if you two ever had that problem, but it's frustrating. She's so stubborn sometimes. She says she gets it from you Maribel." The words felt okay on her tongue, and she hadn't been struck down by lightning just yet, so she continued on, figuring that first names would be appropriate.

"I wish there were something I could do to show her how unbelievably happy she makes me. I want her to know how incredibly beautiful she is, and how lucky I am to have her. I want her to know that no matter what happens to me, in the rest of my life, that I know I'd be okay as long as she were with me. I wish she would realize that no matter what has happened to her in the past, and what that means for our present and future, that I'm not going anywhere. I love her too much to let her go. So, with your blessing, I'd like to ask her to marry me, one day. I want to be the one to protect her and love her every day for the rest of her life. I want to wake up to her every morning and fall asleep next to her every night. I want to fight over who's going to do the dishes and whether or not our daughter can get her ears pierced. I want to come home and see her trying so hard to cook something without burning it, and pay bills from a joint account, and decorate a house together. It's like, once I have the big picture, all I want are the small things. I think that those small things could make me happier than anything else ever would. I just want her to know that I'm not leaving, that I have every intention of staying by her side as long as she'll let me. I want her to know how head over heels in love I am with her, and I want to prove it to her every day."

"You don't have to prove it Britt, she already knows." The blonde whipped around, taking in the small form of her girlfriend, tears streaming down her cheeks, albeit accompanied by a shy smile.

"How long have you been listening?"

"Long enough," she whispered, as she settled down onto the damp grass behind Brittany, nuzzling her cheek into the blonde's shoulder. "Deep down, I know all of those things. I always have. It's insecurity on my part. I find it hard to believe that someone as absolutely perfect as you are would possibly want to spend the rest of their life with someone as damaged as I am."

"I'm nowhere near perfect," the blonde mumbled.

"But, you're perfect for _me_," Santana countered. "You balance me somehow, bring me back from the world of crazies. You push when you should, and fall back and let me figure things out on my own when I need it. You calm me down, bring me up, and no matter what I do or say or go through, you love me at the end of the day. I consider that perfect. It's just a matter of me realizing that maybe, just maybe, I did something along the way to deserve you." Brittany leaned back into her girlfriend's chest, snuggling in contentedly. "And I'm trying to realize that. It may take me a while, but I promise I'm trying."

* * *

_Words are far mightier than they're given credit for. They can break you down, build you up, make you doubt yourself, or reassure you of forever. Singularly, they mean something, but not much, not nearly as much as when they are strung together into sentences, paragraphs, conversations, and sentences. But when they're meant for breaking, when therein those words lies a distinctive goal of hurt, they can be far stronger than than either of the people involved._

_Once they're brought together, they become not singular punches, but combinations. A slap turns into a left hook to your pride, a roundhouse kick to your gut, bursting so many of the butterflies that normally flutter there, and a uppercut to your jaw, leaving you speechless - bruised and battered and incapable of defending yourself._

* * *

Santana had her books tucked loosely in her left arm as she made her way out to the parking lot after her last class, actually looking forward to settling down behind her desk and answering calls. She'd been floating for days in something resembling post coital bliss, but she knew that it was more than physical sensation that had brought her to this place of absolute calm, warmth flooding her limbs every second of every day. She heard scattered conversations as she passed through the hallways, ignoring them as per habit, slipping her sunglasses out of her hair as she pushed open the double doors leading outside. It was then, through a dark tinted haze, she caught sight of Josh Coleman leaning into a small brunette. She couldn't see the girl's face, but a strong tug in her stomach made her believe it was precisely who she thought it was, and she had half a mind to confront Rachel about their less than innocent positioning. Ultimately, however, she decided against.

Regretfully though, she found she didn't have much of a choice, seeing as they were settled right next to her vehicle, and there would be no avoiding the confrontation.

" - and do you know what she told me?" The boy's voice lifted several octaves, as he attempted a falsetto. "_Oh, I'm sorry Josh. I already have a date_."

The more closely she came to the pair, the more evident it was that Rachel was astoundingly uncomfortable, and if her darting eyes were any indication, she needed an out, immediately.

"And when I asked her who she was going with, and she told me it was _you_? Imagine my shock that you, queen of the singing hobbits, had managed to snag Quinn Fabray. She's not gay, you know. She's just fucking with you - tormenting the school's resident lesbo just for fun. When you get to prom, she'll embarrass you beyond your dizziest dykin' day dreams, and you'll be left crying in a bathroom stall."

Rachel's words quivered as she spoke, and Santana couldn't quite catch if it were from nerves or insecurity on her part. "Quinn loves me. She wouldn't do that."

Josh slapped her across the face, hissing his next statement as Santana fought tooth and nail against her urges to slam him to the ground and beat the shit out of him. "On top of being a cunt licking _freak_, you're an idiot too. Even if she were gay, why in the hell do you think she'd be with you of all - "

_Fuck it. _Her body connected solidly with Josh's with the force of a linebacker twice her size. Once she had him pinned effectively to the ground, her forearm tucked snuggly under his chin, she spoke. "You don't talk to her like that. You don't ever fucking talk to her like that. Just because you can't managed to get laid doesn't mean that you have the right to fuck with other people's relationships, understood? Who fucking cares if Fabray is actually Fab-gay? Even if she were straight, she wouldn't go to prom with you because you're a conceited prick. So hop on a bus back to hetero town, and leave us lesbos to our business, resting assured that we both get more ass than you do, comprende?" He nodded, quaking slightly under her penetrating stare. She hopped up, brushing off her skirt before extending a hand to Rachel. "Quinn always works on Wednesdays, so I'll drop you at the Bean if that's okay?" The smaller brunette nodded , sending a grateful smile to her savior.

* * *

"So, you know prom's coming up soon?" Brittany gave a hum of acknowledgment without looking up from her textbook, a highlighter tucked between her teeth. "Have you thought about whether you want to go?"

The blonde simply shrugged, switching her gaze from her notes and her book while steadily avoiding Santana's eyes. The brunette huffed, falling back into the pillows littering the couch, and grabbing the remote from between two of the cushions, content to flip through channels aimlessly while Brittany studied. She heard incessant vibrating on the coffee table, just to the blonde's right, and ignored it, focusing her attention on the fist pumping occurring on-screen.

"Aren't you going to get that?"

"Nope. If it's important, they'll leave a message." The buzzing stop, before recommencing almost immediately. Santana blew a large puff of air out of her cheeks, reaching over and grabbing the offending device to silence it before noting the name flashing across the screen. "Hello?"

"Santana! Good evening, I'm so glad that - "

"Yes Rachel?" The abrupt mention of the smaller brunette's name peaked Brittany's interest, finally abandoning her studies for an interaction that seemed to prove much more enticing. She watched Santana flounder with the conversation before releasing an exasperated sigh. "Fine, but under a few conditions. First, this little pow-wow is going down at my place, so I can kick you out whenever I see it fit. Second, none of that vegan crap. Third, I am at full liberty to interrupt you when you decide to start speaking in paragraphs. You still wanna tango?"

"Absolutely. I think this meeting of the minds could be a wonderful foot stool in the beginning development stages of our burgeoning friendship, and I am fully prepared - "

"Rachel. Paragraphs." In the event that her eyes rolled any further, they'd easily have been lost in the back of her head.

"Right. Well, I'm looking forward to it. Thank you, and see you tomorrow night." The strained pauses in between sentences were evident as the brunette tried to keep her word count to a minimum. Santana nodded once, and agreed before ending the call.

Brittany turned to her, eyes wide with questions, and she was met with an exasperated sigh and slumped shoulders. "Berry and Fabray are coming over for dinner tomorrow, to 'celebrate the camaraderie of the astoundingly minute population of Sapphicly oriented individuals, while simultaneously demonstrating her appreciation of my heroic, if unorthodox, methods of emotional and physical protection.'" The blonde simply quirked an eyebrow, not nearly as well versed in the soliloquies Rachel tended to engage in. "She wants to have a lesbian dinner date night, because I saved her ass this afternoon."

Brittany let out a sigh identical to her girlfriend's before muttering through her teeth, the sarcasm still managing to drip on every word. "This is gonna be _super _fun."

* * *

The next morning, the bubble of comfort Santana had been floating in had been burst, a combination of the upcoming dinner with Rachel and Quinn and Brittany's constant texting throughout the night before and well into the school day. She was secretive, with her phone turned from Santana's view, and refused to divulge who she was conversing with, which only perpetuated the brunette's feelings of insecurity.

"I'll catch you later babe," Brittany said as they separated, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before heading in the direction of her dance class, leaving Santana just as frustrated as she'd been most of the morning. She leaned against a wall and sighed, running her fingers through the top of her hair and wondering what exactly what was going on with her girlfriend, until she took note of a slender redhead, Michael Poller, dancing down the hallway. She remembered him being in the dance performances from weeks ago, simply because of his puffy ginger hair, and though Brittany danced at home and in the car, she'd never moved through public places the way the boy in front of her was. Head cocked to the side, she observed him for a few moments, before noticing another person down the hallway doing the same routine, much in the same fashion.

She wrote it off as another eccentricity of the performance art kids in her school, and took off toward her photography class. She hadn't made it far before she saw yet another dancer, a female this time, mimicking the two boys moves, and try as she might, she had to admit that she was intrigued at this point.

"Santana Lopez, you're needed in the guidance office." Emma Pillsbury's soft voice floated over the PA system, but rather than the typical beep after an announcement was made, music flooded the hallways from every direction. Thinking back to the awkward week of Madonna music being blasted over the intercoms, she wrote this off as well, moving slowly through the crowds toward the counselor's office, seeing more and more people joining in on the intricate dancing she'd seen from, thus far, at least ten different people. The beat built up, and though she didn't recognize the song, she found herself bobbing her head along as she listened, not stopping her walk toward Ms. Pillsbury despite the throngs of people around her dancing for whatever reason.

_Nobody knows what I'm feeling inside  
I find it so stupid, so why should I hide  
That I love to make love to you baby_

_Only got just one life this I've learned_  
_Who cares what they're gonna say_

_I wanna dance, and love, and dance again_  
_I wanna dance, and love, and dance again_

She attempted to continue her walk as those around her seemed to crowd her further and further. Looking down, she saw arrows taped to the linoleum of the hallway, pointing her in the opposite direction of the guidance office, and despite her misgivings, she followed. Not missing a step, the dancers around her let out a resounding whoop as she turned toward the auditorium, dancing amongst her as she tried to hold in laughter, still wonderfully confused as to what in the _hell_was going on.

_Baby your fire is lighting me up_  
_The way that you move girl is reason enough_  
_That I love to make love to you baby_

_I can't behave_  
_Oh I want you so much_  
_Your lips taste like heaven_  
_So why should I stop?_  
_Yeah, I love to make love to you baby_

As she burst through the doors, the crowd around her rushed past, continuing their performance on the stage as if spontaneous flash mobs were a part of their everyday activities. They seemed unphased as she watched, feeling a tug in her gut that told her she was meant to be here, watching this exchange.

_I wanna dance, and love, and dance again  
I wanna dance, and love, and dance again_

If there lay a singular doubt in her mind, it was erased when she saw a familiar flash of blonde flying through the air, much as it had before, automatically seizing her attention without her consent. Brittany joined the dancers, executing each step more cleanly, spinning just a bit more tightly, and radiating more joy than the others combined. She flashed a cheeky grin as the cheerleaders, headed by Quinn, came from nowhere, sending flyers into the air as if they were nothing more than feathers. The redhead, Michael, came running off stage to grab her by the hand, effectively pulling her into the throng of people as the cheerleaders set up five groups of bases, sending a girl up into the air with a poster board on five consecutive beats of the song. Four letters and a question mark later, Santana felt arms slip around her waist, and the grand gesture and all of the people involved faded away as she took in the sweet smell of citrus flooding her senses.

"Prom?" she barely whispered, choking slightly on the tears she knew were coming.

An almost imperceptible nod tilted against her shoulder. "Will you go with me?"

* * *

**AN: I'm feeling particularly fluffy lately, and this is the result of that. **


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: If you would, my lovely readers, I have two important questions in the ending author's note that I would really appreciate feedback on, one in regards to Tommy, and another in regards to the possibility of a sequel to this. So please, don't skip the note for this chapter, and if you would, provide your opinions! Thanks, and happy reading!**

* * *

As simply as that, the bubble of warmth that Santana had been floating in returned, shielding her from grasping reality too tightly. After a mildly inappropriate make out session that ended with them horizontal in the wings of the auditorium, the pair rushed off in opposite directions once more. The tiniest, most minute shreds of Santana's mental capacity were working in overdrive to come up with a reason as to why she was more than twenty minutes late for her photography class, but the kind smile on Mrs. Sonnier's face when she flew into the classroom led her to believe that an explanation was unnecessary. As she gathered her things to head into the dark room, a gentle tap on the shoulder turned her around to face the woman, who was leaning against the door frame, a gentle smile coloring her features.

"I'm assuming the performance went well?" The young girl's mouth opened and closed a few times, but her mental processes were still slow at best, and thankfully, her teacher quickly squashed her miserable attempts at word production. "She let me know you would be a little late, and promised a free night of babysitting if I wouldn't be upset," she explained, thoroughly amused.

"So we'll get to watch Tommy again?" The hesitant smile Santana sported didn't go unnoticed in the slightest, and the sight warmed Mollie's heart.

She nodded, returning the gesture. "I know prom is next weekend, but I have a gallery opening the weekend after, in Chicago. Either we can fly up that afternoon, and take a red-eye back in after, or - "

"We could keep him, for the weekend," Santana rushed out. "I mean, if that would be okay with both of you. You could have like, a mini-vacation or whatever, and Britt and I will just keep him at my apartment. You can totally come and check it out, make sure it's suitable, and we'll write up like, itineraries and make sure we have his allergies down, and I can see about getting my foster mom to - "

"Santana," Mollie cut her off, half laughing. "That would be wonderful. Tommy doesn't warm up to people easily, but he seems to adore you. I'll have to talk to Dani about it, but I don't see it being an issue. We both trust you and Brittany, and I think Tommy would like a weekend away from his moms." The hesitant smile and rushing nerves were soon replaced with a sweeping feeling of excitement, evident by the genuine glow radiating off of the small brunette. She tugged Mollie into a hug, repeating her thanks again and again until Mollie playfully shoved her away and sent her toward the dark room.

* * *

"It won't be that bad sweetheart," she murmured into the blonde's neck, occasionally pressing kisses to the exposed skin there. Brittany huffed in her arms, clearly no more excited about the prospect of Rachel and Quinn coming over than she had been when the dinner had been scheduled. "I'm sorry we have to do this, but coming out and going on real dates in public isn't as easy for them as it was for us."

"I get it, I do. She's just _so _irritating," she continued protesting. "She never stops talking." The complaints were lackluster at best, and seemed to hold a slight tinge of something more behind them.

"Please tell me this isn't a jealousy thing Britt." The silence was as much confirmation as she needed. She paused, sighing, before considering the best course of action. "I have no interest in Rachel, or in Quinn. The only person I want, today, tomorrow, and forever, is sitting right here, in my arms. I'm doing this to try and be nice, to help them out."

Brittany slowly nodded, taking in her girlfriend's words before collapsing into Santana's chest. "Okay. Okay, I'm just being weird. I get why we're doing this, and I promise to try and be nice. Just promise you won't leave me for the hobbit."

The brunette bit back a laugh as the doorbell rang, and she scrambled from behind Brittany to get up and answer the door. Halfway there, she ran back, tugging the blonde in for a long, lingering kiss, and winking when she pulled away. "I promise."

Opening the door, she gave brief greetings to both girls before allowing them inside, where Rachel pulled her in for a hug that lasted a second longer than Brittany seemed comfortable with, clear by her spontaneous fit of coughing. Holding back a smirk, Santana turned toward her girlfriend, offering to grab a bottle of water for her as Quinn unloaded the grocery bags in the kitchen, receiving a wan smile in return. The couple began digging through the cabinets, pulling out various pots and pans for what seemed like might turn out to be spaghetti.

Careful not to spend too much time out of Brittany's direct line of sight, Santana returned to the living room with a small bottle of water and a large glass of wine. Settling down on the edge of the couch, she placed the two drinks on the coffee table before taking hold of the blonde's face and pulling her in for a searing kiss. "You are my forever," she whispered when she released Brittany. "Don't forget that." The genuine reassurance was enough, as the dancer press another, much more delicate kiss to the lips barely inches from her own, nodding into the embrace.

* * *

"Berry, this is surprisingly good." She noticed the slightest flicker of Brittany's eyes in her direction, and unsure she'd be able to survive a culinary emotional breakdown, determined that compliments might well keep her out of the proverbial doghouse. "I'd be impressed if it weren't for the fact that I basically live with Rachael Ray." The blinding smile the blonde sent in her direction allowed Santana to give herself a mental pat on the back.

"I feel as though Cat Cora might perhaps be a better comparison, taking into account the similarities between the two, given - "

"Just because we're both blonde and gay - "

"So, Santana, how's Dr. Howell's office?"

"I'm simply implying that you should appreciate being a reminder of a powerful Sapphic role model in the culinary industry - "

"One of the hygienists got bit by a four year old yesterday, nearly lost a fingertip. It was like that creepy piranha girl from Finding Nemo."

"I think you're implying - "

"Oh wow. That's crazy. We had some little kid somehow get behind the counter the other day, and he managed to have the espresso machine sending out shots every seven seconds."

"I'm entirely befuddled by your distaste for my opinion. It was simply an observation as to the similarities you possess, and was intended as a compliment toward your apparently more than satisfactory culinary skills."

"That must have been a bitch to clean up," Santana laughed. "I remember one time - "

"I've had it! You constantly talk down to me, and I'm done sitting back and taking it. Oh, and don't even get me started on the eye-sex you were giving Santana during the musical rehearsals."

"I'm a method actor Brittany," she replied coolly, emphasizing each syllable of the girl's name. "It was me being in the moment." Giving up on their small talk, both Quinn and Santana held their wine glasses in a vice grip, shifting their heads left and right to keep up with the emotional ping pong match across the table. The brunette attempted to calm her girlfriend by placing a reassuring hand on her thigh, but felt Brittany shift away quickly.

The ball had fallen straight into the blonde's court, and she slammed it back with all of her might. "Unless _in the moment_, "she hissed, using air quotes, "is some kind of Broadway code for imagining my girlfriend naked, I sincerely doubt it." Point.

"I do believe given that I am in possession of my own - "

"Possession? So Quinn is your property now?" Point again. Santana shook her head, praying for Rachel to remove her foot, other foot, and both hands from her mouth.

"That's not what I - " Rachel huffed out a sigh of exasperation before slumping over the table. "I will be the first to admit that Santana is an attractive girl, however, I don't have and never had any interest in her beyond friendship. I am very much secure and contented in my relationship, though it seems the two of you have insecurity issues, my involvement aside." Both Brittany and Santana exchanged a defeated look before turning their attention back to the girl across the table from them. "I watched Santana so intently because she had what it was I desired - an open relationship - something I never thought I would be able to have, not, at least, with Quinn. I was jealous."

Brittany's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline, and Santana's mouth fell agape. "You two work together so well, and seemed incredibly happy and secure enough to not care what intolerance you might meet along your journey. I wanted that. I'm sure the road has not been an easy one, but I was in fact jealous, until I found that what I wanted so desperately was mine - all I had to do was ask for it," she finished quietly, intertwining her fingers with Quinn's beneath the table.

Game. Set. Match. "I'm sorry I was rude to you Rachel," the blonde finally murmured, though she didn't sound terribly convincing.

"It's all in the past. I'd like to move on from here, and offer an opportunity to further catalyze the potentiality of our burgeoning friendship. Dress shopping for prom!" Brittany's eyebrows, which had just recently reappeared, flew into her hairline once more, but with a gentle squeeze on her knee, she relented and agreed. "We'll go in pairs, so as to ensure that our dresses are kept a secret from our significant others. Santana, you and Quinn should have a wonderful time! I look best in pastels, so Quinn's dress should be complimentary to that."

The brunette turned to her girlfriend and saw a look that could be described as nothing short of horror filled. As Rachel continued making plans for a shopping trip that weekend, Brittany's face slowly faded into one of resigned defeat, before she twisted in her seat, brushing her lips against her girlfriend's ear. "You owe me, so bad."

* * *

As it turned out, Santana could think of quite a few things that would be much worse than owing Brittany - things like winning the lottery, talking herself out of a ticket, or having a massive chocolate cake delivered to her doorstep. Despite being incredibly sore every morning, the brunette was more than willing to owe her girlfriend every day for the rest of their lives, if that was the kind of payment Brittany was expecting in return. Sliding out from under the sheets, she debated whether her thighs or left forearm needed more attention, but before she could make a decision, soft hands were giving her back the treatment she'd been considering. Steadily moving south, she felt the muscles in her lower back loosening quickly, her thighs doing the same shortly after as Brittany's hands moved around her body to her front. Knowing that this soon could move into "you still owe me" territory, Santana placed her hands over her girlfriend's to stop them before leaning back and pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"We've got to get ready," she whispered, rising from the mattress. Brittany flopped face first into the pillows, her words muffled as she protested.

"I don't wanna," was the only thing Santana was able to make out, due in large part to the whine accompanying the words.

"I'll owe you."

Brittany's face lit up at this prospect as she removed her head from the mountain of pillows. The excitement quickly shifted to something akin to mischievousness, and the brunette's eyes widened, knowing she'd unwillingly stepped into what seemed to be a sexual lion's den.

"I'll make a deal with you," she said, conspiracy lacing the proposal. "I'll play nice with Rachel _all day_," Santana gulped, anticipating her girlfriend's caveat, "if _you _switch shopping partners with me after the dresses are bought." The brunette's forehead wrinkled in confusion, clearly not following her Brittany's train of thought. "I'll go with Quinn and get coffee or something, and you and Rachel - "

Despite the fact that no one else was in the room, the blonde's words were barely audible as she leaned into Santana's ear. The whispered tone of Brittany's request rendered her completely speechless and unable to protest. The brunette nodded a few times, fighting the flush on her face and her internal trepidation at actually going through with the compromise.

* * *

**AN: A bit on the shorter side, I apologize, but I couldn't find a better stopping point without making you guys wait a few more days for the entire shopping escapade, which will be just that - an escapade. Haha. Any ideas as to what Brittany's deal might entail?**

**Another quick question, one I'd actually really appreciate feedback for - how are you responding to Tommy? Did you enjoy the babysitting scenes? I received positive feedback with Sophie, and I wanted to introduce a child into their interactions, to give a bit of a glimpse into the future.**

**And in asking that - how would you all feel about a sequel? I've had the ending to this prepared since the chapter surrounding Brittany's birthday, but the last chapter will result in a significant time jump from graduation, and as I'm admittedly incredibly attached to the fic, I was considering doing a sequel that would fill in the time jump. Thoughts?**

**And to the Guest, who wonderfully analyzed the insecurities in their relationship, I was kind of hoping to get some more of your feedback! I used the previous chapter to show some of Brittany's dedication, then worked in the insecurities of both into this one, to try and level the playing field. I've always felt they were just about on the same level, but I wanted to make it more clear.**


	28. Chapter 28

"Taking bets on who snaps first," Quinn quipped from the brunette's left as she brushed through the collection of dresses on the rack. "I have a distinct feeling that I may be without a prom date because Brittany will throw her over a rail on the top floor of the mall."

"She's one paragraph description and two bad dress choices away from doing it," Santana giggled. She handed her phone to the blonde, showing a text message filled with entirely too many exclamation points and a good deal of fully capitalized words, detailing her plans for Rachel's murder. Gingerly pulling a floor length gown from the display to her left after returning her friend's phone, Quinn held up the sage green ensemble, quirking an eyebrow until Santana considered the dress and nodded, smiling. Unsurprisingly, the two hadn't taken long to find their dresses, and decided to deposit the garments in brunette's Jeep before heading back into the mall to wait for their girlfriends in the cafe they'd chosen as a meeting spot. Settling down nearest the window with two iced mochas, they quietly sipped and discussed how exactly prom would play out.

"I know Rachel wants to go with you two, for solidarity - "

"Sounds like Berry," Santana teased.

"But I don't want their fighting to ruin anyone's night. Is Noah taking anyone? Maybe he could act as a barrier between their incessant, borderline insulting, banter."

The brunette considered the option for a second before responding. "I'm pretty sure he's just going to try and dance with every semi-attractive freshman there, so I can talk to him about it. He's almost as good at calming Britt down as I am, so it might help." Her phone buzzed on the table, and her shoulders shook in laughter before she lifted the phone to eye level so Quinn could read the other blonde's text.

_I am going to throw her off of the third floor if she doesn't stop talking. Remember that you owe me. You owe me more than I originally thought was possible. You're lucky you're beautiful. xx B_

"You owe her?"

"Long story that I don't wish to divulge the secrets of. Basically though, in return for her playing nice with Rachel, I have to take Berry shopping somewhere else after this is all done, and before you even think about asking - I can't tell you." Quinn pursed her lips together before nodding and taking another sip of her coffee, considering all the possible options of Brittany's seemingly devious compromise.

* * *

"Instead of subjecting people to Chinese water torture, they really ought to just send them shopping with you," Brittany muttered under her breath.

"What was that Britt?" The grating voice, accompanied by the unwanted nickname had the blonde gritting her teeth in frustration, holding back the verbal attack she wished she could let loose on the tiny girl.

"Just said it would be really cool if the theme was oriental, like China."

"Oh, that would be a lovely theme. Perhaps one day, the four of us could host a party to such extent, with paper lanterns and an extensive vegan menu featuring - "

"Yeah. Maybe," she quickly replied, hoping it would quell Rachel's need to turn every sentence into an encyclopedia excerpt. She held up a forest green strapless dress with lace covering the chest and draping over one shoulder, and to her surprise Rachel agreed to try it on, and subsequently decided it was _the _dress.

Granted, their luck finding Brittany's gown was miserable at best, and mentally agonizing at worst. The small brunette felt that her friend, as she had so dubbed the blonde recently, needed to be covered in several square feet of taffeta, regardless of what color the dress was. Brittany had most recently been placed in a polka dot dress that reminded her of a watermelon, which was only preceded by a sequined zebra print gown that nearly fell off of the blonde's thin frame. Finally, frustrated, and almost an hour after their agreed meeting time with their girlfriends, Brittany snapped.

"Rachel, I want something simple. Classic, possibly strapless, with no more than two colors. No animal print, no stripes or polka dots, and no more sequins." She held her head in her hands, rubbing her temples in slow circles, hoping to stave off the migraine forming behind her forehead.

"Something like this?" Rachel inquired, her voice several decibel levels lower than usual, and when Brittany turned, she found herself staring at the most gorgeous dress she'd seen all day. Upon trying it on, she found it clung to her curves easily, with the sweetheart neckline drawing attention to her collarbones, and further up, where the cobalt of the gown reflected in her irises.

"Exactly like this," she said quietly, as she stepped out of the dressing room. Brittany couldn't find it in herself to be perturbed by Rachel's overdramatic hand clasped at her chest, or the tears forming in her eyes as she smiled back at the girl who perhaps she'd underestimated.

* * *

After a text from the blonde, Santana and Quinn ordered second mochas, picking up a blueberry muffin and hot chocolate for Brittany and a chai tea for Rachel before settling back into their seats and awaiting their girlfriends' return. Both were on edge, assuming that they'd spend the rest of the afternoon playing referee, and each time the bell on the front door sounded, two sets of eyes, one chocolate and one hazel, would immediately flit to the door, anticipating tears or raised voices when the girls appeared. However, neither was prepared for the two to enter giggling together, arms intertwined until they sat, greedily inhaling their drinks. Brittany pressed a kiss to Santana's cheek before settling into small talk, informing their girlfriends that everything went fine and they'd both acquired dresses they were more than pleased with, without any major fights. It was hard to tell who was more surprised out of the three girls sitting at the table when Brittany announced that they'd actually had a good time together, and she was glad she and Rachel had time to bond.

Taking this as a sign from the gods, Santana mentioned that she had to make one more stop before they headed home, and asked Rachel to accompany her, while Quinn and Brittany decided that once the other two returned, they should order pizza and have a movie night. Santana was sure by the end of the day her face would be frozen into a look of permanent shock, given that having both Quinn _and _Rachel over was Brittany's idea. She nodded hastily before tapping the other brunette's shoulder and indicating with a head nod that they should get going. After a round of goodbyes, they left the two blondes to wander around some more, before agreeing to meet back at Santana's apartment by seven.

"May I ask where this mysteriously secretive endeavor is taking us?"

Gripping her steering wheel and letting out a shuddering sigh, Santana turned to the brunette in the passenger's seat, wondering how best to phrase their destination. She settled for the name of the location, thinking that perhaps Rachel wouldn't know what it was. "Britt asked me to pick up something at The Lion's Den."

The girl choked on the last sip of her tea before turning toward the driver and spluttering out, "You're dragging me to a _sex shop_?" The last two words were whispered as if a low tone would somehow make them sound less conspicuous. Santana nodded slowly, fighting the flush building on her cheeks. "Why?"

"Because, in the words of my foster mother, I am, and I quote, 'inexplicably and all-consumingly whipped,' apparently enough."

"And I'm here because - "

"Brittany said you had to."

Rachel's face shifted from one of confusion and mild disgust to sheer and unrelenting horror. "Do you think perhaps Quinn discussed our extracurricular evening activities and expressed a disinterest in my current methods? Or maybe she is wholly unsatisfied and this is beginning of what Wikipedia very quaintly refers to as lesbian bed death. Do you think she still finds me attractive?" For the most part, Santana had found several ways to block out the singer's ramblings, but this time, she couldn't allow herself to ignore the girl's insecurities.

"I'm sure everything is fine Berry. I'm not even sure that Quinn knows where we are. But if you are so insistent on have a grand mal anxiety attack over this, maybe you should look around when we get there, while I go and pick up my _things_." She said these last few works as she shifted into park, unbuckling her seatbelt at a glacial pace, with Rachel clearly no more excited to step out of the car. Taking a deep breath in, Santana turned to the girl next to her, fixing her gaze, and breathing out, "Let's do this."

* * *

"I don't even know what that could be used for."

"You don't want to know."

"Or this - "

"Especially that."

"I do however commend this retailer. This piece is shockingly realistic," Rachel murmured, cocking her head to the side as she took in the flesh colored, if mildly wrinkled, sex toy. Santana hummed a noncommittal response, continuing her own search, occasionally deterring from the task at hand to observe less obtrusive items, such as massage oil (which she promptly threw in the small basket on her arm) and edible panties (which she debated for quite a while before remembering that Brittany hated mango and was allergic to banana). Rachel's voice shook her from her thoughts again. "What are anal beads?"

"Berry, you need to stop."

"Four levels of vibration? Seems a bit much."

"Rachel - "

"And why would they shape this like a butterfly?"

"I can't believe this."

"How is that supposed to fit inside - "

Santana pinched the bridge of her nose, tossing a few more things into her basket. It wasn't until she'd finally decided on her purchases that she realized that Rachel had slipped away, and telling Quinn that she'd managed to lose her girlfriend in a sex shop was not a conversation Santana was readily willing to have.

"Rachel Barbra Berry, don't make me go Marco Polo on your ass," she hissed as she maneuvered through the aisles, cursing the girl's diminutive stature as she couldn't be seen over any of the aisles.

"I'm in the dressing room," she called back, and Santana headed in that direction, fully intent on tormenting her with the idea that every inch of the place was probably covered in liquids she'd rather not consider. However, she wasn't prepared for the sight in front of her, and subsequently, her mouth dropped open. "So, what do you think?"

Her head tilted to the side, Rachel was clad in minimal amounts of clothing, and what she _was _wearing consisted of a lot of lace, fashioned in the form of a corset. It was a miracle she'd managed to get into it, and Santana imagined it'd be more than interesting to try and get her out of the ensemble. She didn't allow herself to give that idea any thought though, as if Brittany could hear her thinking from miles away, so innocent as those thoughts were, because it was _purely_ a curiosity thing, she simply told Rachel that she thought Quinn would like it. Heading to the cash register, she ignored the raised eyebrow and creepy smirk from the man checking her out (and scanning her items as well), and waited impatiently for her friend to make an appearance so they could get the hell out of dodge.

* * *

"Are you sure you're going to be able to go through with that?"

Rachel hadn't spoken since they got into the car and started driving back into town, and with very few context clues as to what she was referencing, all Santana managed was a "What?"

"Despite your attempts to conceal your purchase, I saw you procure a harness, which only leads one to believe that you'll be using a dildo in order to pleasure Brittany, and I simply hold concerns for your attempts to do such, given your history."

"Given my history? And what the fuck does that mean?"

"On the news a while back, they spoke about a girl who'd been molested by a foster parent, and then was cornered by his son at the airport. I simply put a few facts together, and came to the assumption that it was you."

"Put facts together?" she echoed.

"I'd appreciate if you'd stop mimicking me, but yes. I remember you missing a week or two of school in seventh grade, and then Brittany had mentioned your spontaneous trip to Chicago, which was just wonderfully romantic in my opinion - "

"To the point Berry."

"And then the way you reacted with Josh," she paused, taking a settling breath. "It just all fit, okay? I was worried that the use of this particular item might flare up old demons, and I was simply expressing that concern."

As much as Santana hated to admit it, as per usual, Rachel was more than likely right. She hadn't considered the possibility of dredging up the past, and she was sure Brittany hadn't considered it either, or else it wouldn't have been brought up. The rest of the car ride was spent in silence until the two pulled into Santana's driveway, whereupon she caught her passenger's arm as the girl tried to exit the Jeep.

"Rachel? Thanks."

* * *

It was hours later when Brittany and Santana dragged themselves upstairs, leaving their friends passed out on the couch, curled into one another. Exhausted was an understatement for the brunette, and she simply shed her clothing, refusing to do much more than crawl into bed in her underwear. Soon after, her girlfriend joined her, wrapping an arm around Santana's waist and pulling her close, tucking the girl under her chin.

"Did you get it?" The silence was finally broken by the four whispered words, and the brunette nodded meekly against the slowly moving chest beneath her. "Where is it?"

"Under the bed." As if she could feel the gears in her girlfriend's head turning, Brittany nudged Santana, giving her a questioning look when she finally caught the girl's eyes. "I'm not 100% on the idea Britt."

The blonde nodded a few times, considering the response. "Okay." When her girlfriend echoed the solitary word in disbelief, Brittany nodded again, and repeated an "okay."

"You were so excited about it though," Santana mumbled, trying her hardest not to let the feeling she was a disappointment flood her.

"Because it was something new with you," she replied simply, shrugging as if it were the most obvious answer on the planet. "I love exploring new things with you, and I thought that could be something we could try. But if you're uncomfortable, we don't have to; there will always be other things. We've got a lifetime of adventures ahead of us." She paused, taking in a deep breath. "Don't let this bother you honey. I love you, and we both need to get some sleep if we're going to have to deal with Rachel in the morning."

"She's not that bad you know," Santana breathed out, stifling a yawn before burying her face into Brittany's neck. "And I love you too."

* * *

**AN: I am so sorry for how long it took to update. A combination of life and writer's block hit me and hit me hard.  
That said, I'm not 100% happy with this chapter, but I tried to rework it several times and couldn't get much better than this. At the very least, you got some comic relief.**


	29. Chapter 29

"I am entirely too hung over to function like a normal human being."

"I'm so hung over that bacon is sounding like a plausible, and not morally unhinged, breakfast decision."

"My head is pounding so hard I think I'll be wearing my aviators for the rest of eternity," Santana grumbled from her position at the kitchen table - that position being face down and immobile. Quinn sat down next to her, a bottle of water in one of her hands, the other five fingers clasped tightly around what was left of her memory of the night prior.

* * *

_"You look absolutely breathtaking." The petite blonde glanced down at her gown, fighting a shy smile as she intertwined her fingers with the girl she held in her arms. "I am the luckiest girl here."_

_"Don't let Santana hear that," she chided good naturedly, glancing to the side where her eyes, and not long after Rachel's, fell upon the two turning slowly in the center of the dance floor, oblivious to the world around them as they spun._

_"Have you ever seen a couple more perfect for one after? They fit together seamlessly."_

_"I think we give them a decent run for their money," Quinn said quietly, tugging Rachel more closely, placing a hand on the silken fabric at the small of her back as over her girlfriend's shoulder she watched Brittany dip Santana gracefully._

* * *

"Hola chicas." In a burst of energy and enthusiasm that was rivaled only by Brittany, Holly swept through the kitchen, taking in the sight of three lifeless forms spread about her kitchen. Santana had managed to sit up, but Quinn was still sitting with her legs to her chest, her head hidden within her knees, while Rachel had yet to even contemplate moving from beneath the kitchen table, where she lay curled up in the fetal position. "Estamos bien?"

She was met with a chorus of harmonized groans and light tittering from her daughter's direction. "They had a little too much to drink last night," she muttered.

Brown eyes locked on blue, glaring readily. "You had more than any of us. This isn't fair," she grumbled, massaging her temples. Quinn whipped her head around quickly to meet Holly's bemused grin before finding herself pushed to the ground. "Fabray, if I catch another whiff of your hairspray, I am going to upchuck enough tequila on you to guarantee that you believe you're a back alley Mexican dumpster."

"So we all had a good prom then I'm presuming?" Brittany nodded animatedly, Rachel groaned out a confirmation, Quinn barely held out her hand in a thumbs up sign, and Santana simply smiled softly to herself.

* * *

_"I don't think it's possible for you to look any more beautiful than you do right this moment," Santana whispered into her ear, her sky high heels keeping the couple nearly eye level. Brittany rolled her eyes, allowing a gentle giggle escape her lips before leaning her girlfriend backward, dipping her. When the brunette was brought back up, she couldn't hold in her own laughter as they resumed their swaying, their hips rocking back and forth in unpracticed synchronization. "You really are perfection, and I don't think you'll ever know how much I love you."_

_She pressed a warm kiss to the corner of the blonde's mouth before tucking her head into the curls spilling over the girl's shoulder. "I'll learn eventually," Brittany whispered. "We've got plenty of time."_

* * *

" - and then Santana started crying because she was the only 'real' minority, because, and I quote, 'big nosedness is not an ethnicity,' while Quinn and Rachel played a rousing game of pass-the-prom-queen-tiara, which ended in them making out underneath the kitchen table somehow because Quinn remembered some girl was wearing a dress the same color as hers and started yelling - so Rachel distracted her."

"And where were you for all of this?" Holly teased.

Santana placed her bent elbow on the table, and leaned into her hand, fingers clenched around her mug of coffee as if it were a life raft and she was adrift in the Pacific. "She was stripping on the couch to make me feel better." She shrugged nonchalantly. "It worked."

Bopping each of the girls on the head with the newspaper she held, Holly meandered out toward the back porch, not entirely out of ear shot when she mumbled, "I always wanted my house to be a lesbian brothel." Brittany flushed pink and Santana smirked at the combination of Holly's words and Quinn and Rachel's reactions to them.

The smirk turned into outright laughter when Puck lumbered in moments later, yelping out, "Holy tits Berry!" Rachel immediately rolled over, shielding herself once she realized she was topless. Brittany tossed a towel toward her to cover her naked chest, a furious blush blooming across Quinn's features at her place on the table.

* * *

After finally fighting off the dredges of her hangover, Santana made her way to the Puckerman's, memory card in hand, as Holly had promised April plenty of photographs of the couple that night. She found her brother passed out on the couch once again, with her foster mother tutting at him as she tidied the living room around him.

"Hey Mama," she said softly, trying her best to keep from waking Puck up.

"Hey sweetheart," April replied absentmindedly, plugging in the vacuum. Santana couldn't fight her look of disbelief when the machine roared to life, jolting Puck out of his sleep and landing him face first on the carpet. His face scrunched up as he slowly peeled himself off of the floor, taking in his mother's disapproving look and his sister's attempts at holding back laughter. "Noah, get yourself an Advil and a bottle of water, and move your pity party upstairs." He huffed, pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket on his way to the kitchen once his mother had turned her back. "I wouldn't suggest smoking either," she called over her shoulder. "It will make the nausea worse." The giggles Santana was fighting burst from her lips, and Puck sent a scowl in her direction before grabbing a water bottle and dragging himself upstairs. Once his door shut upstairs, April shut off the vacuum and settled into an armchair, not quite oblivious to her daughter's expression.

"I vacuumed yesterday. I was just sick of watching him groan on the couch," she admitted, shrugging nonchalantly as Santana fit the memory card into the laptop on the coffee table. April bounced back up, sidling over to perch next to the teenager on the couch, flicking through the plethora of photographs on the screen. "You both looked beautiful," she finally decided, realizing there were no adequate words for the pride she felt building in her chest as she looked at the young woman beside her, so different from when she'd first arrived at their house ten months prior. "You've grown up so much."

Santana touched a bent pointer finger to the corner of her eye, hoping to keep the tears at bay as April's warm gaze washed over her, crashing past her defenses a hundred times. She pulled the woman tightly to her chest, nestling her chin over her foster mother's shoulder. "Thank you Mama." Lingering there before pulling away, Santana cleared her throat. "Two weekends from now, the weekend before graduation, we have a gallery exposition, a final showing of our work," she said quietly. "I'd really love for you and Puck to be there."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," April murmured. "And I'll make sure Noah is presentable enough to be brought in public." They both sat back, imagining a button down shirt to complement the boy's ever present mohawk, and quickly fell into a fit of giggles.

* * *

It seemed the closer they all got to graduation, the more quickly the days seemed to pass by, molding into a rushing blur of late night study sessions, later night not-quite-so-studying sessions, and a lot of talk of the future, from everyone the girls encountered. So ironically enough, the most calming time Brittany and Santana had the week after prom involved a recently turned four-year-old, a rousing game of Brown Bear, Brown Bear, and the Disney Channel on a Friday night.

The following evening, Santana had occupied the dining room table after a dinner of mini pizzas and lemonade, her prints from the past few weeks spread across ever spare inch of room she had. Tommy sat in her lap, pointing out different faces and repeating the names the brunette taught him. Brittany couldn't hold back laughter as she heard the little boy tell her girlfriend that, "Wachel Bewwy has a big nose." She was almost convinced Santana had taught him that specifically, but chose to give the girl the benefit of the doubt.

Out of the corner of her eye, the brunette noticed Brittany dancing as she finished up the last of the dishes, the sound of High School Musical playing throughout the house. Her gaze washed over the blonde, who caught the adoring look in Santana's eyes coupled by the look of awe in Tommy's. Despite still having kept his distance, he hopped off of the brunette's lap, running into the kitchen. He stopped, not even a foot from Brittany's place at the sink and tugged gently at the bottom of her shirt.

"Bwitty?" he mumbled, flushing pink as she dropped to her knees and ran a hand through his hair. "Can you learn me that dance?"

A beaming smile bloomed across her features as she nodded, taking his still somehow sticky hand in her own. "Yeah, Tommy. I'll teach you."

Meanwhile, still sat at the kitchen table, Santana was fighting a losing battle - one that she realized she'd probably never win. The prints just inches from her fingers required her attention, but Brittany's writhing body combined with the four year old's adorable attempts at following the blonde's movements were stealing her attention away every few seconds. She pulled her camera off of the chair to her right, focusing on the scene before her and setting the shutter off a few times before she was satisfied. It wasn't until the last click that Brittany heard the sound, and hands still clasping Tommy's above his head, prompting his motions, she caught her girlfriend's eye and winked before refocusing on the little boy in front of her.

* * *

Tucking Tommy into bed in the guest room, Santana made sure to flip the hallway light on in case of nightmares. She soon slipped into bed with Brittany, worn out from two straight days of entertaining the unanticipated energy the little boy obviously possessed. Santana curled into the blonde's side, letting the scent of citrus flood her as she took in several deep breaths, quickly moving toward unconsciousness. She felt a nudge in her side and sleepily turned her gaze upward, pressing a lazy kiss to the underside of the blonde's jaw.

"Do you think it'll be like this?" Brain fuzzy, and fighting the need to be awake, Santana truthfully had no idea what her girlfriend was talking about. "I mean, if we have kids, do you think it'll be like this weekend was? Cooking dinner together, and Disney movies, and trips to the park that leave your arms sore from having to push us both on the swings?"

The brunette let out a laugh as Brittany's hands skillfully massaged her aching biceps. "I think it might be like this Britt. I would like it to be like this at least." She tugged on her bottom lip, suddenly much more awake than she had been previously. "Like you told me for my birthday."

"What did I tell you then?"

Santana's eyes fluttered closed, as she recreated the scene in her head. She saw in her mind's eye the light from around the cracks in the door framing Brittany's golden hair, setting it alight. She pictured the slightly dusty floor, a camera in the center of the room. She remembered the overwhelming smell of citrus that she still could feel intoxicate her, even now. "I see you," she recited, the words firmly captured in her memory. Her eyes stayed shut, watching behind heavy eyelids as her brain's Brittany spoke them again, and she simply relayed the message to the Brittany who's chest she lay curled into. " - in ten years, in some loft apartment in a big city. The walls are lined in photographs, gorgeous photographs, that you took. You'll be cooking dinner, waiting on your wife to come home, and this tiny little girl will run up to you and tug on your jeans, asking what song you're humming under your breath as you stir."

The room was silent for a while, nothing noisier than the breaths escaping Santana's lips hitting either girl's ears. "I can't believe you still remember that - every word."

"It's hard to forget when it's all I've dreamed about since you told me." She nuzzled further upwards into Brittany's neck, sighing contentedly. "So yeah, Britt. I think it'll be like this."

* * *

**AN: Head's up. It's really looking like we've got one more chapter, and then an epilogue. However, I do have serious plans in the works for a sequel, if you beautiful readers would be interested.  
Apologies for the delay in updates, I'm usually a bit better at updating at least once or twice a week, but my senior year of college has started, and life caught up to me, as usual. Lots of fluff for you lovelies in exchange for crappy updating.**

**I hope you enjoyed. You can review one way or the other, haha. :)**

**- A**

**P.S. (Because I know she's reading this, all the way down to the end of the author's note, a million thank yous to my incredibly supportive girlfriend, who's adorable late night text response was featured earlier in this chapter ;) haha)**


	30. Chapter 30

The room was filled with a quiet murmur, swarms of people gently moving around one another, focused on finding family and friends. Standing quietly in the corner was a petite brunette, donning a knee-length shift dress, an unbuttoned blazer draped over her thin frame, with loose curls falling over her shoulder. She held her phone tightly in her hand, clicking it every few seconds to light it up on the off chance that she'd received a text. She'd yet to look around much, saying only a handful of hellos to classmates as she anxiously waited for her guests to arrive. She felt a tiny body wrap around her knees, and looking down, she caught glimpse of a dark brown curls nestled into the fabric of her dress. Despite her wedge heels, she managed to lift the little boy into the air with minimal problems, settling him on her hip and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Hey there handsome," she said softly, adjusting the impossibly cute bowtie around his neck. He beamed back in her direction before nuzzling into her neck and whispering a greeting of his own. She felt a hand on her back and turned both her and Tommy toward the right, meeting sparkling blue eyes and an enormous grin.

"Bwitty!" he exclaimed, leaning out of Santana's arms and toward the other girl who scooped him up and resettled him against her own hip. "You both look weally pwetty." Neither girl could fight their giggles; his mispronunciations never lost their charm.

Brittany pressed a chaste kiss to her girlfriend's lips, eyes shining brightly. "He's right, you know. You do look _weally pwetty_," she teased, earning a genuine laugh in response. "My mom said she'd be here in a half hour. Where's Mama P?"

"She's been hiding, trying to contain her tears." The voice behind them caused both girls to turn, seeing a clearly emotional April Puckerman, accompanied by her son, button down and mohawk in tow, who was trying to conceal his own sniffles. "Your piece was beautiful sweetheart," she choked out, wrapping Santana in a bone crushing embrace.

"Kickass job sis - seriously," Puck added, attempting, but failing miserably, to preserve his masculine bravado, given that his voice still held a wavering quality. The tiny brunette blushed, murmuring out a thank you as he too pulled her into his arms. Brittany had yet to see the photographs in question, so the group of five moved across the room, commenting on a few separate pieces as they made their way back into the heart of the gallery. Thanking heaven above that Tommy had been passed off to her girlfriend, Santana nearly fell backward after catching just a glimpse of long, dark hair and a high pitched squeal, which only added up to one person.

"Berry, I can't breathe," she yelped, pushing off Rachel's insistent hands. Suddenly realizing they were in public, the girl pulled away, straightening her dress and clearing her throat. Quinn appeared behind her, shooting a genuine smile toward Santana as she wrapped an arm around her nearly hysterical girlfriend's waist.

"What she's trying to say," the blonde began, "is your work is exquisite, and she's incredibly touched."

"_Wanky_," Santana whispered, causing Brittany to nearly drop Tommy from her arms in laughter. "But thanks Quinn, and thank you Rachel, for the overzealous display of your appreciation of me and my talent."

In the midst of the small talk and introductions to April, Brittany sidled away silently, the little boy still perched on her hip as she meandered through the crowd, finding Santana's piece, _Esta agua es más gruesa que sangre._It was a single compilated photograph, composed of what looked to be at least five different slides, all morphed into one, and blown up, far larger than her normal prints. Letting her eyes roam across the piece, Quinn's words fluttered through her head. The word exquisite didn't do the art justice; Santana's compilation was flawless. She took note of her and Tommy dancing in the living room, the Ikea sofa (the only thing they'd agreed on fully that day) in the background, with a photo of her, Quinn, and Rachel on that same couch, lined up perfectly with the first print. There were shots of Brittany sitting in the graveyard, across from Santana's parents' grave site, and thinking back, she didn't even remember her girlfriend having a camera with her that day. There was a scene of Holly and April, simultaneously glaring at Puck, and another, of Brittany and Santana focused in the mirror, a ring settled against the brunette's chest capturing the light in the room. There were photos of both mothers separately, Puck smoking behind the boat outside, a smirk coloring his features, and one of hands intertwined, that, despite the greyscale of the piece, Brittany knew were caramel and milky white. All of these moments of the past year were molded together, combined into a perfect summary of the life Santana finally had come to accept, love, and above all, cherish with everything she had.

Brittany felt someone move into place behind her, and a soft voice, huskier than usual, repeated the title of the piece once in Spanish, then again, in English. "This water is thicker than blood."

"I love you," the blonde replied, not trusting her voice with words further than that.

Pressing a kiss to Brittany's cheek and then Tommy's, Santana whispered out her reply. "I love you too." They heard Tommy start giggling, and looking over their shoulders, saw both Mollie and Danielle approaching them. The little boy started wiggling around in the blonde's arms, and was soon passed over to his mother, who smoothed his curls down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Mrs. Sonnier washed the two in an adoring gaze before turning to address Santana.

"Someone has expressed interest in your piece - " she cleared her throat. " - in _purchasing _your piece."

The small brunette's head immediately shook back and forth. "No." She paused before continuing. "I can't sell it. It would be different if it were a landscape, or an anonymous portrait, but this is my family, and my memories that I'd be selling. I honestly don't think I could do that Mrs. Sonnier." Mollie nodded, before turning to walk away. "Wait! Who was it?"

"She would prefer to stay anonymous. I strongly urge you to consider it, however. She explained her intentions behind her interest to purchase, and I think it would be beneficial for you. She's offering a thousand dollars for the photo, and I think you should accept that offer, and just trust me," she whispered the last few words, before turning again, making her way through the crowd to greet other students and parents.

She turned to Brittany who immediately shrugged her shoulders in a noncommittal way. "I don't know what you should do sweetheart. Don't you have another copy of this?"

"No. It took long enough to get this one right. I have a ton that aren't quite right, but copies are beside the point. All these moments, intimate moments, are going to be hanging in someone's house - some stranger's house."

"Then maybe it isn't a stranger. Maybe it's someone we know, maybe even someone in the photographs, who wants the memories too." She caught hold of Santana's hands and tugged her gently forward. "You'll have to learn to let go of your photos one day. They're all personal, all intimate, all a part of _you_, which makes them that much more special. Of course someone would want your work hanging in their home."

Even after all this time, she couldn't fight the blush creeping over her cheeks as she stared readily at their intertwined fingers. Huffing out a sigh, she jokingly rolls her eyes. "I'll do it. Let's go find Mollie."

* * *

After four years, Santana was finally thankful for belonging to such a small performing arts school. The graduating class was no more than thirty, which meant there was really no reason to alphabetize the graduates, leaving her standing next to Brittany, hands clasped tightly, shaking only slightly. The blonde was fidgeting, continually tugging at her gown and adjusting the sash around her neck. Her hair fell just over that sash, perfectly straight and shining as brightly as her eyes.

"It doesn't feel quite right," she complained, separating their hands to continue playing with the collar of her oversized red garment.

_Now or never_. Brittany's attention was firmly occupied by her incessant motions, so she didn't notice her girlfriend slide in behind her until Santana had gathered her hair and placed it gently over one shoulder. On the tips of her toes, she pressed a kiss to the girl's exposed neck before slipping her arms over the blonde's shoulders and fastening the necklace she'd been holding onto for months, allowing the ring hanging from the silver chain to settle at the center of Brittany's chest. She brushed the hair back over her left shoulder, brushing it down into place. "There," she murmured. "Perfect."

Santana was flushing slightly, unsure of how her decision would be received, but when she found herself pulled into a desperate kiss and she had to hold on to her cap to keep it from falling backwards onto the floor, her heart thumped a steady rhythm of _you did good Lopez_.

When Brittany finally released her, those blue eyes were shining more brightly than before, and combined with a brilliant smile, Santana felt her knees go weak. "God, I love you."

"I love you too," she barely whispered back, now ready to get her diploma and head home to the graduation party April and Holly insisted on. At least there, she could sneak away and show her girlfriend exactly _how much _she loved her, so she mentally cheered when she heard the beginning of Pomp and Circumstance, signaling the start of the hopefully short ceremony.

* * *

"Santana," April called from across the backyard, her head tilted to the side and her eyes narrowed slightly.

"I know that look. You are in deep shit Lopez," Puck muttered, shaking his head. "I'll take care of Britt if you die." Both girls punched him in the bicep before the brunette wandered in the direction of her foster mother, her heart beating just the tiniest bit faster, though she'd never have admitted it.

"Sit," she instructed as Santana approached her, and the girl settled into the swinging bench next to April, worrying her fingers in her lap and avoiding eye contact. "I see Brittany acquired a new piece of jewelry." Santana simply nodded, not trusting her voice. "We talked about this sweetheart. I love Brittany, and you two make a lovely couple, but you're eighteen, fresh out of high school. I don't think you're ready for that kind of commitment."

Brown eyes widened and locked on hazel, seeing nothing but concern, tinged only slightly by disappointment. "Mama, I didn't propose."

"You didn't - what?"

"I _do _listen sometimes. I'm not Noah," she huffed.

* * *

_Their hands laid clasped together over the gear shift, Santana's left resting loosely on her steering wheel and Brittany's right absentmindedly playing with the ring around her neck._

_"'Tana?" She spoke so softly, half of her girlfriend's name was lost in the whispers. The brunette flipped her left blinker, readying to pull out of the school's parking lot for the last time, and nodded, showing she was listening. "What does this mean for us?"_

_For once, no further questions were necessary to ask Brittany to explain her question. Santana, however, couldn't have this conversation while driving, so she pulled out of the line and drove back towards the football stadium which had, for the most part, cleared out. Shifting into park, she disentangled their fingers and opened her door, hopping out of the Jeep. Walking around the front of the vehicle, she did the same for her girlfriend, silently intertwining their fingers once more in silence and leading her to the bottom row of bleachers._

_"Santana?" The blonde's voice was quavering, and the brunette quickly pulled her close, hoping that in the embrace, one of them could find the strength to begin speaking. She didn't want Brittany to think she'd regretted the action, because she didn't, in the slightest._

_"I love you, you know that right?" The taller girl simply nodded once, still nonplussed by the situation. "I want it to mean whatever __you want it to mean. I believe wholeheartedly that we are forever Britt. All of the dreams that I have, all of the ones I've ever had, seem so much more real now that you've worked your way into them. I was never one for relationships. I never let anyone get too close, because inevitably, everyone leaves. You haven't," she whispered, blinking back tears. "You've promised me time and time again that you weren't leaving, and for some reason, one that I don't even understand, you haven't. I want you to wear that ring every day, to remember that I'm not leaving either. It's a reminder of my love for you, a reminder of everything we've been through to get where we are, and one of everything to come with our future." Brittany was fighting tears just as steadily as Santana was, their hands shaking in the other's grip. "And one day, I want to take that ring, and put it on your finger, and promise you with every bit of certainty that I possess that forever is exactly what we'll have." Her eyes fell to the asscher cut diamond, settled against Brittany's chest and vibrating with her furious heartbeats. "But we're young, and we're going to be stupid, and we have all the time in the world to be responsible. Right now, if it's what you want, I want it to be a promise of love – a promise to love you with everything I have, as long as you'll have me."_

_Words escaping her, Brittany simply pressed their lips together as desperately as she had right before they walked the stage. "I want that," she whispered as she pulled away. "There's nothing I want more."_

* * *

Having finally calmed April Puckerman down with repeated reassurances of no engagement and two glasses of wine, five teenagers were sprawled out behind the boat, all with red solo cups and three with cigarettes tucked between their fingers.

"The benzene in those could be detrimental to my vocal abilities, and I for one, do not appreciate the lack of consideration for my pulmonary system," Rachel managed to say, despite being four drinks in, and suffering from a serious case of slurring.

"I graduated. I don't care," Brittany replied easily, flopping back onto the grass beside her girlfriend. Not yet fully affected by the alcohol, Santana had been hit squarely by the nicotine of her cigarette, and tossed it off to the side, blowing out a final puff of smoke.

"No more cigarettes," she whimpered, still far more intoxicated than the blonde. "My head feels like it's going to float away." She curled into Brittany's side, soon realizing that her girlfriend was shirtless, wondering how that fact had previously escaped her. Her fingers gently traced over the blonde's abs, tickling occasionally until she'd managed to wind the girl up enough to find herself being straddled in the backyard in front of their friends, Brittany's mouth working furiously at her neck. Quinn began yelling at the two of them, with Rachel giggling at how 'utterly and completely adorable' the girl's facial expressions were. This quickly sent Santana into tears, a combination of being shouted at irrationally and realizing 'just how damn much' she loved the girl on top of her. Puck flicked his cigarette to the ground, cursing loudly at Quinn for stopping the show, because 'despite Santana being his sister, it was still _unbelievably fucking hot_.' The angry blonde stormed away, Rachel practically skipping after her, leaving Brittany to press soft kisses across her girlfriend's cheeks, effectively calming her down enough to quell the tears."No tears," she murmured. "We've accomplished too much this year for tears. Today is your day to be happy, to celebrate everything you've done in the past ten months that has brought you to this moment. Today is all about looking forward to your future – "

"_Our _future," Santana interrupted, hiccupping.

"Our future," Brittany repeated. "I really like the sound of that." And as if to emphasize her point, she settled back down, pressing her body fully against her girlfriend's, allowing their lips to mold together as they had so many times before.

* * *

"Danielle! I said no more tattoos," Mollie groaned, struggling to hold Tommy in her arms. She shook her head in frustration until the little boy nuzzled the rainbow flag clutched tight in his chubby hand against her nose.

"Don't be mad at Mama. Her didn't mean it," he said soothingly, placing a hand on her cheek.

"Yeah Moll, listen to your son," Danielle quipped. "Besides, I didn't get another tattoo. She did," she replied easily, sticking a thumb in Brittany's direction. Santana, who'd been giggling at the exchange suddenly quieted, arching at an eyebrow at her girlfriend.

"You got a tattoo Britt?" Sure, the blonde was full of surprises. Yeah, she had a way of doing things that her girlfriend least expected, in all forms. But this was a rock-the-boat, blind side, completely out of left field unexpected.

Brittany nodded hesitantly, taking Santana's hand and leading her away from the couple they'd spent the last two days of Pride weekend with. She dragged her past a booth about family building options, through a small group of half naked gay men, all in cowboy hats and not much else, and further, around a few couples lazily enjoying the Sunday afternoon sun on picnic blankets, watching their children run around waving rainbow flags without a care in the world. Once satisfied that the interaction would be as private as she could manage, Brittany turned around to face her girlfriend, squeezing her hands once in a silent asking for understanding. She tugged up the end of her tank top, revealing her left hip covered by a swath of gauze, taped down around her hip bone. Peeling the bandage back carefully, she revealed the single white-ink word, and looked up to see tears filling Santana's eyes.

"You –" she choked on her words. "You didn't have to do this Britt." Her fingers had travelled unconsciously to the identical scar on her own hip, feeling the still slightly raised bumps even through the fabric of her t-shirt. "The scars may fade, and – "

"White ink does too, after a while," she stated simply. "So if yours goes away, mine will too." Despite her tears, a small smile teased at the corners of Santana's mouth. "Besides, I was thinking –" She was cut off by her girlfriend's lips eagerly pressing to her own, conveying each ounce of gratitude coursing through the smaller girl's veins. Brittany cleared her throat before continuing, the lightest of a blush coloring her cheeks.

"Anyway, before I was so _rudely _interrupted," she teased, "I was thinking that maybe we could take this, something nothing short of horrible, and transform it. With your camera, you are so good at finding the beauty in the most miniscule or seemingly imperfect moments. Why not do that now?"

"Britt, honestly, you lost me."

"What do you think about the name Dylan?"

"Still lost, but I suppose it's a cute name. Are we talking boy or girl here?" Her eyebrows were scrunched up, but she had given up on following the conversation for the most part.

"Either," Brittany shrugged. "Dylan and Kensie. Dyan and Keira, or Kellen, or Kemp."

Finally putting two and two together, Santana smiled gently. "Or Kendall." She gently traced the four letters emblazoned across the blonde's hip in the air. "D-Y, and K-E." Her hand moved from the girl's hip to cup her cheek, whispering an "I love you," that had never felt more true.

And just like that, forty pounds of four year old hit Santana square in the back of the legs, effectively breaking the trance surrounding the two young women. She flipped around, picking up the little boy and plopping him on her hip, where he'd become most comfortable.

"Are you crying 'Tana?"

She sniffled back the last of her residual tears and nodded, kissing Tommy on the forehead. "I'm just really happy." Brittany smiled back at her softly before landing her own kiss on the little boy's cheek. "What do you say about finding some cotton candy handsome?" She gently bounced Tommy on her hip as he began squirming in excitement, a giant smile blooming across his tiny features.

* * *

Standing in line, several people passed by, cooing at the pair, and finally, after the fourth or fifth person let out an "aw," as they walked by, Santana huffed in frustration. "Why are they doing that?"

An elderly gentleman wandered only a few feet to the right of them in that moment, and offered an explanation. "You two make a beautiful family."

"But we're not – "

"Thank you," Brittany replied, tugging her girlfriend closer. "We're very happy." It was worth the glare Santana sent her way, and she did all she could not to burst into giggles, even as she kissed the scowl away. "I love you too," she teased, before turning around to watch a small blonde girl tugging her mothers toward the cotton candy stand.

"Brittany!" Her face transformed into one of shock when the tiny blonde hurtled herself at the teenager, flying into her arms and squeezing tightly.

"Sophie! Oh my god!" She spun the little girl around several times in the air, her giggles floating above the rest of the noise of the weekend, until finally they settled back onto the ground, Sophie grinning wildly, and Brittany kneeling before her, holding her hands.

Santana placed Tommy on the ground, nudging him forward with a pat on his butt. "Introduce yourself," she prompted.

"Hi," he whispered after a few seconds. "I'm Tommy, and you're weally _weally _pwetty."

Sophie fought a blush as she twisted around in her place, hands holding tight to the bottom of her dress. "Thanks," she said quietly. "You are too."

* * *

"Why did I think it would be fun to live on the fifth floor?" Santana grumbled.

"Because you didn't want to gain the freshman fifteen," Brittany responded, managing to shrug despite the huge box still nestled against her chest.

They both let out a sigh of relief when the key fit into the lock and the door swung open, revealing the furniture the movers had dropped off earlier in the week. The red sectional couch was in the center of the living room, and Santana would have bet without a doubt that the stupid white chair, still as oversized as the day she bought it, would be placed in their bedroom. She would never have admitted it, but eventually, the armchair started growing on her, despite her initial hatred for it. Maybe because the blonde had chosen it, or maybe, and this seemed much more likely, it's because the blonde had chosen to drape her naked body over it more times than Santana could count on her fingers and toes. It was probably that.

They simultaneously dropped the boxes on the floor unceremoniously, not taking more than a second to breathe before heading back down to the ground floor, both thankful for the fact that the majority of the boxes had been taken by the movers, and all they had left were "personal affects" – Santana's now extremely well-sized collection of cameras and photographs, and several odds and ends Brittany didn't trust with anyone else, including her dance shoes and an equally good sized set of sex toys.

It took them only three additional trips, thanks to help from their neighbor, Andy, a stereotypical art school kid, donning a flannel button down, unruly curls, and a beanie. It also only took one less than subtle makeout session in the hall a few days later for him to stop unabashedly staring at Brittany's ass.

When they'd dragged everything upstairs, they decided that "eating healthy and being responsible," could wait until the next day, and ordered a incredible sized pizza for delivery, even bringing a few slices across the hall, with a beaming smile from Brittany and a disgruntled 'yeah, thanks' from Santana. They flopped onto the couch, with the brunette quickly curling into her girlfriend's side and allowing her heavy eyelids to flutter closed. Almost immediately, to her extreme disapproval, Brittany was prodding her side, begging her to wake up. Groaning, she mumbled something along the lines of deserving sleep for driving six hours to Chicago with limited coffee, but the blonde wasn't giving up. When Santana finally pulled herself out of the dredges of sleep, she saw her girlfriend slack jawed, staring at the wall to their right. Following her gaze, brown eyes fell on an enormous print – one she hadn't seen since she'd sold it, over three months ago. Attached to the center was a yellow sticky note, covered in loopy handwriting.

_Take Chicago by storm sweet cheeks. I know this only the beginning of your story, but it never hurts to have a reminder of what brought you here. All the love in the world, Holly_

* * *

**AN: Epilogue will be the next chapter, with a time jump. I've been itching to write a legitimately future fic for Brittana, as parents, and with the time I've invested in this fic, it would seem to be a natural progression, rather than starting an entirely new story with no background.  
**_  
_**So, would anyone be interested in the sequel? :)  
**


	31. Chapter 31: Epilogue

Though she would still never admit it, the cooking class from their junior year of college had done her well. Despite Santana's incessant protests of feeling "too grown up," if she were able to make more than ramen and toast, Brittany had managed to drag her, nearly kicking and _definitely _screaming to the couples' class. However, and she wouldn't admit this either, the class became something she looked forward to, and after three weeks, she couldn't hide her celebratory fist pumps when her meal was removed from the stove unscathed and surprisingly good. Thinking back to their first week, Santana laughed as she stirred the paella in front of her, tossing in seasonings haphazardly as she hummed under her breath.

_"I hate this class," the brunette muttered, arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. She had a streak of flour across one cheek and an inexplicable amount of batter down the front of her jeans._

_"But it means so much that you said you'd come," Brittany whispered back, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth as she removed several perfectly shaped pancakes from the pan on the stove. The ring hanging from her chest caught the light as she leaned forward again, taking Santana's lips firmly in her own. The slight scent of citrus flooding the brunette's senses, weakening her knees as she focused on the girl in front of her - the only reminder she had of home._

_They were pulled apart by the piercing sound of a siren and a sudden shower of rain on them, and looking over, both caught sight of a thin boy in glasses, still staring unabashedly and unaware that his cooking station had caught on fire. Pushing her wet bangs from her face, Santana giggled, pulling Brittany to her once more before running outside to await the fire trucks._

Turning the knobs on the stove down to allow the food to simmer gently, the brunette felt a soft tug on her pants' leg and absentmindedly ran her left hand through the tousled mess of dark hair at her knee. She froze for a split second, admiring the ring sitting on her fourth finger, the very one that had nestled itself against her wife's chest for five years. Knocking the residual paella off of the wooden spoon in her other hand, she laid the utensil down on the stove before scooping up the little girl wrapped around her leg. Rubbing at her eyes for a moment, blue blearily focused on chocolate and a weak smile spread across freckled cheeks.

"Mami, will you sing for me?" The request was a quiet one, something not unheard of from her daughter. Dylan Elise Lopez-Pierce came into the world as quietly as she continued moving through it. For her age, not nearly three, she spoke clearly, and had an advanced vocabulary for one so young, but she, like her mother, used her body to communicate more often than her words. A tight grip on Santana's hand signified fear, wide eyes meant astonishment, and various cuddling positions could be attributed to different ailments. She was more likely to curl into one of her mother's sides if she was feverish, whereas a tummy ache led her to plop herself directly in Brittany's lap, leaning into her chest.

Thankfully, with Santana working out her own schedule to compliment Brittany's, very rarely was the little girl in day care, and had missed the stomach virus that had afflicted half of the children in her class. Her wife had been out for the majority of the day however, and as a result, Dylan was far more attached than usual to the brunette. Bouncing the tiny girl on her hip, Santana nodded, and the small smile bloomed across her daughter's cheeks. The woman stuck her tongue out and furrowed her brow, feigning contemplation while her daughter giggled with her before falling silent to listen to her mother as she began dancing them in circles around the kitchen.  
_  
__You're a falling star, you're the getaway car._

_You're the line in the sand when I go too far._

_You're the swimming pool, on an August day._

_And you're the perfect thing to say_.

She swayed left and ring, teasingly dipping her daughter off of her hip before shimmying to garnish more laughter from the little girl. Santana tucked a dark wave that had fallen from her ponytail back behind her ear.

_And you play it coy but it's kinda cute._

_When you smile at me you know exactly what you do._

_Baby don't pretend that you don't know it's true._

_'cause you can see it when I look at you._

Entranced by her daughter's smile, Santana gently placed her on the floor, tugging her hands this way and that as they danced around without care, focused only one another. Neither heard the door click shut behind them.

_And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times_

_It's you, it's you, you make me sing._

_You're every line, you're every word, you're everything._

Dylan's crystal clear voice was finally sounding as she separated from her mother, turning herself in pirouettes while Santana made sure she wasn't in danger of knocking into the stove. She repeated the few words she remembered from the chorus as more waves loosened from her ponytail. Eyes tightly shut, she didn't stop moving until another voice joined the fray.

_You're a carousel, you're a wishing well_

_And you light me up, when you ring my bell_

_You're a mystery, you're from outer space,_

_You're every minute of my every day._

Warm hands wrapped around the brunette's waist and she happily fell backward into the person's chest, allowing herself to be swayed gently in time with the song.

_And I can't believe that I'm your man,_

"Woman," Santana quickly corrected, grinning, and receiving a swift kiss to the apple of her cheek in response.

_And I get to kiss you baby just because I can._

_Whatever comes our way, we'll see it through,_

_And you know that's what our love can do._

Dylan watched as Santana flipped in the woman's arms, placing her hands above Brittany's shoulders, before running to her mothers and tugging once again on the brunette's jeans to be lifted up. Once she was settled cozily against both of them, they resumed their singing, not trying to hide their smiles.

_And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times_

_It's you, it's you, you make me sing._

Brittany winked in her wife's direction, earning a slight flushing of Santana's cheeks and a giggle from Dylan at the embarrassed grin on her mami's face. The brunette quickly recollected herself, teasingly poking at her daughter's stomach as she sang the last few lines of what had become her go to song as the little girl grew up - upbeat, clean, and most importantly, ringing with truth.

_You're every line, you're every word, you're everything._

_You're every song, and I sing along 'cause you're my everything._

Dylan smiled widely, clapping her hands together and giggling at the bows her mothers took once she'd been placed back on the ground. "Smells good babe," Brittany finally spoke. "Like, really good. I'm starving."

"Mami cocinó paella," Dylan stated, as though she were an authority on both the subject of the Spanish language as well as the food in question.

The smile of pride Santana gave her daughter didn't go unnoticed. "Si mija. Very good. Now go and wash your hands for me _por favor_," she teased. As soon as the little girl had bounded out of the kitchen, not without a swift pat on the butt to get her on her way, Brittany pinned her wife against the counter, pressing their lips together hungrily. Pulling away with a breathless sigh, Santana nuzzled her nose into the blonde's neck, inhaling the same citrus that had clung to her pillows since high school. "I missed you today," she whispered sweetly.

"I missed you too. The reopening is tomorrow though, so hopefully the studio will calm down once we have a class schedule set." The brunette nodded into Brittany's neck, impatiently awaiting the days of their normal routine again. She loved her daughter more than her own life, but she was starting to miss being behind the camera, something that had fallen to the side once the studio Brittany had been teaching at decided to remodel. Her boss, an aging woman who rivaled Kelly Cutrone in biting words, had asked the blonde to oversee the operations, promising a raise and more flexible hours once Dylan started pre-school. Santana had attempted to take the little girl with her on a shoot before, but by the end of the day she had a roll of film with a light leak, a migraine, and newly acquired knowledge of her daughter's apparent peanut allergy. _Never again. _"So, have you thought about it?" Santana shrugged, a coy smile playing over her lips. "_And?_"

She couldn't fight her laughter at her wife's anticipation of the answer. Finally, the brunette nodded, her smile brightening considerably. Brittany's lips folded into her wife's once again, rendering Santana breathless, heady with the idea that soon, the family they'd dreamed of for years would be growing. It wasn't an easy path, by any stretch of the imagination. Three years ago, a large chunk of Santana's inheritance disappeared when they'd agreed that while artificial insemination was an option, it wasn't the right one for them. Looking up at the framed print against the furthest brick wall, with a small yellow post-it note next to it, framed as well, the brunette thought back to the night she called Holly, frustrated with the idea that she couldn't do for Brittany what a man could. Still fighting against the idea that she wasn't good enough for the blonde, she allowed every insecurity her subconscious had managed to bring forth to flood out over a two hour and thirty four minute phone call. As always, the older Pierce had a solution, and Santana honestly shouldn't have been surprised.

"_I'm afraid my kid won't know me."_

_"Sweet cheeks, you'll have been there since day one – since before day one. Your baby will know exactly who you are. They'll know that you love them beyond a shadow of a doubt, and that you'd do anything to keep them happy, healthy, and safe, regardless of who carried."_

_"But I have no claim, no stake in who they'll be."_

_"One thing, probably the only thing, I remember from my psychology classes in college, is nature versus nurture. It's been a huge debate for years, and they still haven't figured out which affects you more – genetics or environment. So your baby may come out with blonde hair and blue eyes, but I guarantee that they will soak up your creativity and your admittedly on occasion bad attitude. They may inherit Brittany's dancing ability, but they'll take in your Spanish and your body language – how you roll your eyes when you're bored or embarrassed or frustrated. That child will be just as much yours as it is Britt's."_

"_I can't help but want more than that for them though. I want to know that part of me will be with them from the beginning, as selfish as that may be."_

_Holly paused, taking in her daughter-in-law's words and allowing the gears in her head to turn for a while. "I may know someone who can help you. I'll call you later on tonight, okay sweet cheeks? Hang in there, and send Britt my love."_

When the older Pierce called back that evening, Santana could not have been more thankful for the off-the-books lesbian college Holly had attended. Through the alumni association, she'd managed to get in touch with a girl who she'd flirted with through the majority of her required biology classes. The woman had ended up going to Johns Hopkins, despite Holly's best efforts to distract her during class, working on a thesis with a few white-haired big wig professors there on genetic composition and plenty of other things Santana had never heard of, given her extremely liberal education at Columbia. Dr. Vanessa Winters was now heading up trials in stem cell research, and after fifteen years of testing on laboratory animals (though Brittany would never need to know that), they'd proceeded on with several successful human trials. Holly's enthusiasm was contagious, and after contacting Dr. Winters personally and having the woman explain the concept and process of what the LGBT community had so eloquently deemed "lady sperm," Santana's excitement managed to overshadow her mother-in-law's.

For someone who's biggest fear was exposing herself emotionally, every morning when she felt thirty pounds of pure love flop on her stomach whispering for her to wake up, she was reminded that opening up to Holly that night was what brought her the little girl now crawling up into her booster seat at the table, impatiently awaiting her paella. Setting a plate down in front of Dylan, she pressed a quick kiss to her daughter's forehead, still amazed at how her bright blue eyes squinted when she wrinkled her nose, as Santana's had done for years. Brushing the little girl's dark waves away from her forehead and moving back toward the kitchen, she nearly ran into her wife, who'd been watching once again from the doorway.

"She's perfect, isn't she?"

"She is Britt. Why wouldn't I want another?" she agreed, dreamily imagining the new addition already.

* * *

**AN: Okay lovelies, we've reached the end for this portion of Britt and Santana's story. I'm still fully planning on writing the sequel, which should be up fairly soon, if all goes according to plan, so feel free to set up an author alert. I'll also probably post a chapter update on her, solely an author's note, so you'll know when it's up.**

**Ideally, I'd like to have the first chapter of the sequel up by the end of the week, but I live in south Louisiana, and as you may know, we're in the midst of a hurricane right now. I don't know if I'll lose power, but until I do, I'll be writing on my girlfriend's laptop, and then switching to good old pen and paper until the power is back up.**

**A little feedback on the sequel would be nice. I've had a few people say they'd prefer one of the girls over the other to carry the children. Obviously Britt carried the first, and I'd like Santana to carry the second, because I think the humor behind her hormones there is incomparable, haha, but I do take into account what my readers want. If there's anything you'd like to see in the sequel, shoot me a review or PM, and I'll take that into consideration as well. I have two smaller characters from AOM who will be making an appearance in the sequel, in a way that I think won't be expected. Other than that, there's only ideas, without a solid plot line or any expectations, so let me know. :) **

**It's been an absolute pleasure writing this, and I thank you all so much for your support throughout this journey. **

**- A**


	32. Sequel is posted!

To those of you who didn't have an author alert set up and haven't seen just yet, the sequel to All Over Me has been posted, and a second chapter will be up shortly. The sequel is titled More Than I'll Ever Understand, and I sincerely hope you'll enjoy it. :)


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